22 Twists
by nikkilovesdiamonds
Summary: When Stephanie and Morelli break up, Stephanie tries to figure out what she wants out of life only to realise it may be right in front of her all along. Babe. ******POSTED WITH PERMISSION******
1. Chapter 1

My name is Stephanie Plum, and one afternoon not so long ago, someone knocked on my door selling magazine subscriptions. He was a round-faced, bug-eyed kid with freckles and a spotty mustache, and he started off with some spiel about wanting to study art.

"I earn enough points," he told me, "they'll send me to Europe. There's art in Europe. Lots of art."

I didn't know much about art, or about Europe, but I let him carry on, anyway.

"You don't have to buy anything," he said. "I just gotta meet so many people a day. It's a participation grade. I don't meet the people, I don't get a grade. And I don't get any points."

"And without the points, you don't go to Europe." The boy nodded. "What's the catch?"

The boy shrugged. "There is no catch."

"Okay," I told him. "What do I have to do?"

"Nothing," he said. "Just fill out this form. Your name and address, and your telephone number." I raised an eyebrow at him. "They call the people on these slips at random to make sure I didn't make them up."

I filled out the form and passed it back to him. He looked it over, added a few things at the top, and handed me a yellow carbon copy.

"My name's Adam," he said, pointing to his name written in the box on the right. "And the GBY stands for 'God Bless You!' Or if you're not religious, 'Go Big Yellow!'"

And then he laughed. It was the same nervous laugh I'd heard come out of my sister's fiancé, Albert Kloughn. A laugh fitting for a round-faced, bug-eyed kid.

"They make you say that, don't they?" I asked him.

The boy sighed. "Yeah."

I shook my head and closed the door behind him. A couple weeks later, I got a bitll in the mail for over five-hundred dollars worth of magazine subscriptions. No catch, my ass.

If there's one thing I've learned in life, it's that there's always a catch.

I was on my knees in front of the toilet, locked away in the bathroom of my cousin Vinnie's bail bonds office. Vinnie was on the other side of the door, mumbling obscenities. He gave the door a few solid whacks.

"Go away," I yelled through the door.

"We got three skips out here," Vinnie said. "Three. And you've locked yourself in that goddamn bathroom. What the hell are you doing in there?"

I opened my mouth to answer and horked up the last of the half-dozen Boston creams I'd had for breakfast. When I was done, I cleaned up in the sink and waited for Vinnie to shuffle back into his office.

Lula was waiting for me when I stepped out of the bathroom.

"Damn," Lula said, making a face. "You didn't eat at that new Chinese place, did you? I hear they got parasites."

I took a seat on the brown Naugahyde sofa and put my head between my legs. "I think I'm coming down with something," I said.

"Yeah, you're not looking too hot," Lula said.

I wasn't feeling too hot, either. The throbbing in my head was getting worse, and my chest was sore from all the heaving. I reluctantly dragged myself off the sofa and walked over to Connie's desk. Connie Rosolli is Vinnie's office manager. She's a little older than me, and a little taller. Her bust size is somewhere between my B-cup and Lula's double-Ds, and she's got bigger balls than most of the guys I've dated. Connie keeps the office in order when Vinnie locks himself in his office, which happens to be the majority of the time.

"Tell me about those skips," I said to Connie.

She gave me a tight-lipped smile. "Maybe you should sit back down."

"Yeah," Lula said. "You look like you're gonna throw up again."

"I'm not going to throw up," I said to Lula. "And I'm not going to sit down."

Connie shook her head and sorted through the files. "Two low bonds and one high bond. Take your pick."

I wasn't feeling particularly adventurous, so I asked about the low bonds first.

"Jackie Lieberman. Wanted for DUI," Connie said. "I don't think you want that one. He breeds ferrets in his apartment. Last time he was FTA, he dumped a bag of used pine shavings on the agent who brought him in."

I made a face. "Save that one for Joyce."

Connie nodded. "Good idea," she said. "The other one is Ramon Ruiz. Carrying charge. Chump change, but we need him brought in."

"I'll take Ruiz," I said, and Connie handed me the file. "What else?"

Connie cleared her throat and opened the last file. "Grayson Warner. Thirty-six. Wanted for sexual assault and battery. He jumped bail three days ago. The police are looking to bring him in for questioning about a couple murders. Seems he was seen with one of the victims the night she disappeared."

She handed the file to me, and Lula and I looked it over. Warner's picture was attached to the file. He was Caucasion. Blonde hair and blue eyes. Average height and weight. He looked normal.

"Vinnie's been holed up in that office ever since this guy skipped," Connie said, reaching for a bottle of red nail polish. "I haven't heard any mooing, so I figure it's because he's depressed."

Vinnie is an A-1 sleaze, the rotten apple of the Plum family tree whose transgressions include a duck, a goat, and my arch-nemesis Joyce Barnhardt. A couple years ago, I'd blackmailed Vinnie into giving me a job as a bounty hunter. Not that I'm at all qualified to be a bounty hunter. In all honesty, I'm not really qualified to be anything, but I don't see any reason why that should stop me from trying.

I passed the file to Lula and covered my mouth with the back of my hand. Lula held Warner's file like a shield and retreated behind Connie's desk. "Nuh-uh," Lula said. "You're not well enough to do no bounty huntering. I tell you what, you go take a nap, and I'll bring in Mr. Fifty Grand. Whaddya say?"

"I say get your ass back to work, that's what I say." Vinnie stuck his head out of his office and looked over at Lula. "She threw up, for chrissake. It's not like she's got another bullet lodged in her ass."

I glared at Vinnie. "This is out of my league. Give it to Ranger."

"Yeah," Lula said. "He's good at this high-stakes shit, being the wind and all."

Ranger is Ricardo Carlos Manoso, bounty hunter and security expert. He's my age. Second-generation Cuban-American. He was Special Forces, once upon a time, and has a nine-year-old daughter from a previous marriage. Ranger takes on Vinnie's high-risk skips, leaving Lula and me with the ones least likely to get us killed.

"You kidding me?" Vinnie said. "This nutjob gets his rocks off torturing women. Has a thing for brunettes. I figure I send you out there, he'll as good as turn himself in."

Vinnie winked in my direction, and then slunk back into his office.

Mental head slap. Vinnie didn't want me to find Warner. He wanted Warner to find me. He was using me as bait. I was the proverbial goat tied to the stake. I thought about that for a moment, just before I turned and threw up on Lula.

Grayson Warner lived on Cherry Street, in an old Craftsman-style house that had been cut up into five smaller apartments. His was an end unit on the lower level. Lula and I were parked two houses down, keeping a low profile in the black truck I'd gotten courtesy of Ranger. Well, as low a profile as possible with Lula, anyway. Last week, she'd dyed her hair blood red, chopped it off in a layered bob, and curled up the ends. She was decked out in faux-fur tiger-striped pants and one of my black work shirts. RANGEMAN was stretched tightly across her big boobs.

"I'm sorry about your shirt," I said. "I'll buy you another."

I shielded my eyes against the sun and looked over at Lula's head bobbing in time to the bass. "Naw, girl. This here's tight." She tugged at the RangeMan shirt. It was tight, alright. So tight you could bounce a quarter off it.

"Always wanted one of these T-shirts," Lula said. "Like, I'm a bad-ass bounty hunter now. Might as well start dressing like one." Lula unfastened her seatbelt and opened the door. Then she turned to me and said, "Let's go kick some ass."

Lula's a two-hundred pound ex-hooker held together by gratuitous amounts of Lycra, spandex and poly-cotton blend. She's hot-headed, irrational, and known to carry a loaded Glock. She was halfway to the house when my mind clicked into gear. I swiped the keys from the ignition, beeped the truck locked, and took off for her at a jog.

"No," I said. "There will be no ass-kicking."

"Hunh," Lula said. "You threw up on my shirt. It was purple, too. And it had all them sequins. That shirt was the shit. I loved that shirt. But I was okay with it because you said I could drive. Everyone knows that the driver chooses the music. And that means the driver determines the amount of ass to be kicked." I gave her a look, and she slipped the gun back in her purse and sighed. "Well, what now?"

I shrugged. "Let's check out his apartment."

We trudged up the walk to Warner's apartment and knocked on the door. No one answered. Lula peeked through one of the windows and shook her head. "Not home," she said. "That's too bad. And look, his window's broken."

"What are you talking about?"

Lula picked up an old terracotta pot and tossed it through the window.

"Omigod," I said. "Why did you do that?"

Lula leaned in through the broken window and looked around. Then she pulled her head back and shrugged.

"I thought we could get in this way," she said. "But there's glass all over the floor. I don't think I want to be going in with all that glass on the floor."

I backed away from the door and looked around. There were three apartments on the lower level, and a couple more on the top floor. The house was on a sloping lot, with the access to the upper-level apartments in the rear.

"Let's go around back," I said to Lula.

We made our way up the small concrete path to set of stairs leading onto a small deck outside the second floor apartments. I knocked on the first door. No one answered. Same with the second. I blew out some air and turned back to Lula.

"Damn," Lula said. "I know that look. Your pasty-ass is even whiter than usual. You gonna Linda Blair again?"

I shook my head and started back to the truck. "I think I'm okay."

"It's all that weird shit you been eating." Lula shuddered. "It's like you're taking after that dog of yours. Next thing you know, you'll be hunkering down, letting it roll twelve times a day."

Bob the Dog had a stomach of steel. He ate anything and everything, and pooped more in a day than an average elephant did in its lifetime. Technically, he wasn't my dog, but my on-again, off-again boyfriend, Joe Morelli's. Morelli and I were currently off-again, with our conversations colored with civility and brief flirtation. He didn't like that I chased bad guys for a living, and I didn't want to stay at home and take care of bambinos for the rest of my life. Probably there was a middle ground we could agree on, but neither of us had taken the time to find it. This was in part due to the Ranger issue. I had a fierce attraction to Ranger, and it was getting more and more difficult to push those hormonal urges aside. Ranger had a way of making women want him, and I was no exception.

Lula and I walked back to the truck and thumped with the bass back to the bonds office on Hamilton Avenue, screeching to a halt behind a black Porsche Turbo. Ranger's car. He was standing in front of Connie's desk when we walked in. He gave me a half-smile that turned into a grimace when he saw his name ripping at the seams across Lula's chest.

"Mm-hmm," Lula said to Ranger. "Check it out. It's almost like I'm bona-fide or something. Maybe I should come work for you, too. I got my own piece, even. And unlike Miss Thang here, I ain't afraid to use it."

I glared at Lula. It's not that I was afraid to use it. I had on several occasions managed to pull the trigger. I even shot a snake, once. I just don't like guns.

And, okay. I was afraid to use it. So sue me.

"Babe," Ranger said. Then he took me by the elbow and tugged me toward the door. The air was cool in the shade outside Vinnie's office. Ranger had his black hair secured at the nape of his neck. His eyes were all pupil, his mouth a line that twitched up at the corners. He was either highly amused, or highly aroused. Possibly both.

"It's not my fault," I said. "Her other shirt got ruined and I didn't have anything else in the truck."

Ranger gave his head an almost imperceptible shake. We glanced in at Lula through the plate glass window of the bonds office. She had taken a pair of scissors to the neckline so that the shirt now plunged into four inches of bulging cleavage. She gave her boobs a shift to expel even more and looked satisfied with the results.

"Can I shoot her?" Ranger asked.

"Wouldn't be wise," I said. "But you might be able to sue her for defamation of character."

I followed Ranger's Porsche to the RangeMan office on Haywood Street, parked in a slot in the underground parking garage reserved for non-company vehicles, and followed him into the elevator. It moved silently for a moment and then stopped. I waited for the doors to open and when they didn't, realized we were stuck between floors four and five. Ranger had his hand on the red Stop button. Next thing I knew, he'd hooked a finger into the belt loop of my cargo pants and pulled me to him.

Our hips touched and a warm feeling spread to the bottom of my stomach and beyond. He slid his free hand around my back, caressing the half-inch of skin between my shirt and pants. Then he leaned in and kissed my neck, and that warm feeling turned into something hot.

"That shirt was on loan," he said. He licked the spot he'd just kissed and went in for another.

Ranger shrugged out of his windbreaker and pinned me to the elevator wall with his weight. He was wearing a black T-shirt that hugged his torso like a second skin. I'd seen first-hand what was underneath. No Kevlar. No foam padding like the guy in those Spider-Man movies. Ranger was built solid. He was hard in places you wouldn't expect . . . and in some places you would.

I gasped when his hand slid under my bra. "Wait."

"Babe," Ranger said.

"We're in an elevator." I was trying to sound rational, but to be honest, I didn't give a fig about the elevator. Also, it's hard to sound rational when someone like Ranger is rounding second and closing in on third. "Someone might need to use it."

He nibbled my earlobe and my knees got weak. "They can take the stairs," he said.

"What about the cameras?"

Ranger's building was small and unremarkable on the outside. Easy to overlook. Easy to forget in passing. I guess that was the appeal. It consisted of seven floors and an underground lot, all of which were monitored closely, with the exception of Ranger's penthouse apartment. There's no way a tryst in the elevator would go unnoticed.

"I can fix that," Ranger said. He pulled a small black key fob from his pocket and hit one of the buttons. The light on the camera flashed twice green, then went to a solid red. Ranger had blocked the feed. "Better?"

I scrunched up my face and shrugged. The rational part of my brain was still saying sex with Ranger in an elevator was a bad idea. Hell, it was telling me that sex with Ranger anywhere was a bad idea. It had already happened a few times, and instead of relieving the sexual tension, had merely induced more. The irrational part of my brain knew all of this, but frankly, it didn't give a shit. All it cared about was loads of orgasms.

Ranger stared down at me for a while. Then he pulled away and collected his jacket off the floor.

"We're stopping by the control room," he said. "You might want to do something about that."

I gave him a questioning look and he nodded toward my waist. I looked down and realized my pants were unbuttoned. He'd somehow managed to unhook my bra, too, and I hadn't even noticed. Boy, he was good.

"You're a bad man, Carlos Manoso."

Ranger flashed a full-on smile and released the hold on the elevator.

It was a little after two in the afternoon and the control room on the fifth floor was swarming with big guys in the same black-on-black RangeMan T-shirts as the one I'd given Lula. We stepped out of the elevator and a hush fell across the room. That's how it was when Ranger was around. Quiet. Intense. Ranger stopped by one of the monitor banks where Tank was working and I crossed the floor to my cubby.

A few months ago, I'd decided to give up the bounty hunter life. At the time, I thought it was the best thing for everyone involved. No more fighting with Morelli. No more blown-up cars. No more death threats. And last but not least, no more rolling in the garbage with various failures-to-appear. It took being folded up in an above-the-counter cabinet and left for dead by a psycho undertaker for me to realize that trouble just seems to follow wherever I go, bounty hunter or not.

I rolled up to the desk, entered my LAN ID and password, and checked my email for search requests. Nothing, thank God. Instead, I opened one of the programs and ran a quick search on Grayson Warner.

I printed the report and looked it over. Most of the information was redundant. I made a couple follow-up calls and glanced at the clock behind me. Ranger was leaning against the cubby wall.

"New skip?"

I nodded and passed him the file. "Grayson Warner. You heard of him?"

The tight-lipped expression on Ranger's face told me he had. He closed the file and passed it back to me. "This guy's bad news. You need help?"

"I don't know yet."

Ranger nodded. "Have you had dinner?"

"No. Are you offering?"

"I could use the company."

I logged off the computer and stepped out of my cubby. I hadn't made it far when Ranger caught me by my ponytail. I rolled my eyes and blew out a sigh. Then I flipped open the top desk drawer, removed my gun and holstered it at my hip.

"There," I said. "Happy?"

The edges of Ranger's mouth tipped into an almost-smile. Then he crooked an arm around neck and kissed my temple, and dragged me into the elevator.

The best pizza in all of Trenton, by far, is at Pino's Deli. Unfortunately, most of the regulars there carry guns and badges, and unlike mine, they're legit.

Lucky for me, Ranger didn't do Pino's. Or pizza, for that matter. What he did do were protein bars and skim milk. And he routinely skipped on dessert. I'd tried the skipping-dessert thing before. It hadn't turned out as I'd planned. In essence, I'd given up sugar for sex. Lots and lots of sex. I figured maybe the same thing had happened to Ranger. That would explain the whole elevator thing. And also why he had his hand on my thigh.

We were seated side-by-side at a sandwich shop two blocks down from the RangeMan office. I ordered a meatball sub with extra cheese, heavy on the sauce. Ranger ordered a turkey club, plain. No mayo. No cheese. No salt. That's the difference between Ranger and me. Ranger knows how to rough it.

"When you invited me to lunch, I didn't know I was on the menu."

Ranger flashed me wolf grin. "This is just an appetizer," he said. "Wait until dessert."

I gulped down a mouthful of water and tried to keep my hands from shaking while I took another bite out of my sub.

"Let's talk about Warner," Ranger said. "What have you found out?"

I wiped my fingers on a napkin and fished the files out of my bag. "Not much. We went by his apartment, but he wasn't home. Lula wanted to climb through the window and take a look around, but there was glass on the floor and she didn't want to get cut."

Ranger threw me a look. "So you have the breaking part down. We just have to work on the entering." Ranger tilted the file in his direction and looked it over. "This is a high-bond," he said. "This should go to RangeMan. Did Vinnie say why he gave it to you?"

I swallowed the last of my sub. "You're not going to like it."

"Try me."

I told Ranger about Vinnie's theory and his face took on a blank expression. Then he folded the file and handed it back to me.

"I don't want you going after Warner alone," he said. I opened my mouth to object and instantly regretted it. My stomach was rolling, and there was a sour taste creeping up the back of my throat. I clasped my hands over my mouth and pushed past Ranger, heading straight for the Men's bathroom.


	2. Chapter 2

Ranger was waiting on me when I came out of the bathroom.

"You look a little puce."

"There's something going around," I told him.

Ranger nodded and slipped his arm around my shoulders. We walked back to the office and took the elevator to his apartment on the seventh floor. He dropped a couple tablets in my hand and I washed them down with a bottle of water from the fridge.

"Get some rest," Ranger said. "I have something I have to take care of on the floor. I'll be back in a couple hours, and then I'll drive you home."

Ranger's bed was large and soft, with big fluffy pillows and seven-hundred-thread-count sheets. A while ago, I'd commandeered his apartment while he was out of town, and since then, I'd had numerous sexual fantasies involving his bed and his sheets. More recently, I'd gotten to act out a few of them, but I tried not to think about that too much. Thinking about that gave me a headache, and I already had one of those.

The room was dark when I woke up. The digital clock by the bed read four-thirty in big, alien green numbers. I closed my eyes again and felt under the covers. I still had my panties. That was a good sign. Then I opened one eye and rolled over. The bed was empty except for me. I sat on the edge of the bed and looked around. Ranger was standing in the doorway. He moved forward and tucked a stray curl behind my ear.

"How are you feeling?" Ranger asked.

"Better."

"Are you hungry?"

"No," I lied. Of course I was hungry. I was always hungry.

Ranger smiled and pulled me to my feet. "You should eat something," he said. "You're dehydrated."

"Okay. Maybe I'll have some peanut butter. Or a TastyKake." Or maybe some peanut butter and a TastyKake. Make that TastyKakes, plural.

"How about some white rice?"

"Or a Snickers. Yeah, a Snickers would be real good right about now." After the peanut butter and TastyKakes are gone.

Ranger grimaced. "Humor me and take the rice."

He slapped me lightheartedly on the ass and left for the kitchen. I rolled my eyes and followed.

I sat myself down at the table behind a plate of steamed rice. I looked around for salt or butter or anything with flavor and came up empty. I took a bite and swallowed. It tasted like nothing, but I was having luck keeping it down, so I took another.

Ranger watched wordlessly while I ate. I forked the last pieces from the plate to my mouth and said, "Sorry about your shirt. The one I gave to Lula."

"It's not a problem."

I took a drink of water. "If she ever takes it off, I'll see if I can get it back."

"Thanks," he said, "but it was recovered this evening."

"Oh."

Ranger checked his watch. "I have a pick-up in Atlanta, but I'll be back this afternoon." He stood and slipped a black jacket over his shoulders. "I have someone covering your shift until noon. Your gun and cell phone are on the counter. I expect you to carry them. Tank will remind you if you forget. And I don't want you going after Warner until I get back, understood?"

I nodded in agreement and watched while he holstered weapons on various parts of his body.

"You'll have a hard time getting on a plane like that," I told him.

Ranger secured his Glock at his hip and flashed me a smile. He bent forward and kissed my forehead, and then he was gone.

Ella brought breakfast at ten, along with my clothes from the night before. I'd slept in one of Ranger's black cotton tees, which ran baggy and long on my normally one-hundred-twenty-nine-pound frame. I forced down a couple pieces of plain, dry toast, a cup of hot coffee, and two aspirin. Then I climbed into the shower until all the hot water had run out.

I walked onto the control room floor with ten minutes to spare. Tank was lounging in a chair in front of one of the monitor banks. I flashed him my Sig and gave him a little finger wave. He gave me a nod, and the corners of his mouth turned up.

I checked my voicemail while I waited for my computer to boot. Four messages were waiting. The first three were from Lula, asking if I could get her another shirt. Hers had been swiped while she was in the shower.

The last message was from Morelli: "Call me."

Morelli was waiting for me in front of the Tasty Pastry bakery on Hamilton Avenue. He was wearing jeans and a red long-sleeved tee with the arms pushed halfway up. His hair was longer than usual, and he wore the look of someone up too late and awake too early. He opened a white pastry bag and tipped it in my direction. I reached in and grabbed a doughnut.

"Nice truck," he said. "Is it legit?"

I never know how to answer this when it comes to Ranger's cars. They are always black, always expensive, and always of dubious origin.

"It isn't stolen, if that's what you mean."

"How do you know?"

I didn't. "It has a VIN."

"Ranger probably prints them in his basement," Morelli said. He shook his head and took another bite of doughnut. "I can't believe you're still working for him."

"I like my job."

Morelli focused on me, as if to determine what, exactly, my job entailed, and whether or not it involved lubricant. Our eyes locked for a moment. Then he pulled me toward him and kissed me. Morelli's cell phone buzzed at his hip and he pulled away to check the display.

"Gotta go," he said, his cop face firmly in place. "Here."

Morelli handed me a gray folder with 'Doe, Jane' listed on the tag.

"What's this?" I asked him.

"About every reason I can think of why you should stay away from your FTA."

I looked inside and saw a picture of a woman, stark naked, her body beaten and bloody. Her head was misshapen where someone had bashed it in. Both of her hands had been cut off a couple inches above the wrist.

About a thousand chimes went off in my head and that sick feeling in my gut came back.

"Shit," Morelli said. He steadied me against the outside wall and pushed my head between my legs. The chimes died away, but the sick feeling remained. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"You don't look okay."

"I'm fine."

Morelli's cell phone buzzed again. "I have to go."

I straightened up watched as Morelli walked back to his SUV.

"I miss you," I called to him.

Morelli turned to face me and walked backwards for a stretch. "Miss you too, Cupcake," he said. Then he turned back around, stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets, and continued down the street.

I angled into my truck and merged onto Hamilton Avenue. I came to a red light and thought for a minute. Then I hooked a right onto Cherry Street. I passed by Warner's apartment a couple times. No cars parked on the street in front of the apartments. No lights shining through any of the windows. Probably it wouldn't hurt to just take a look around, I decided. Ranger has asked me not to go after Warner, but he hadn't said anything about doing a little research on the side.

I parked half-a-block down, behind a silver Lincoln Towncar, killed the engine and dropped out of the truck. Then I walked up to Warner's apartment and looked around. The window hadn't been patched and there was still glass in the floor. I knocked on the door just in case and waited for a response. Then I went back to the truck and pulled out a large flashlight from under the seat, and walked back to the apartment.

I used the handle of the flashlight to knock the remaining shards of glass from the window and climbed inside. The apartment was small and dated, and sparsely decorated. The walls were green wood paneling, which had cracked over the years, revealing tufts of pink fiberglass insulation at the seams. The once-beige carpet was stained and threadbare.

I was standing in the living room. Old La-Z-Boy sofa on one end, opposite a large console television. A club chair near the far wall. The sofa was flanked by two mission-style end tables. A cream-colored ceramic lamp rested beside a plastic seashell ash tray on one of the end tables. There was a stack of mail on the other. I grabbed the mail and tucked it inside my bag.

The living room opened onto a small hallway. The bathroom was straight ahead. It was small and utilitarian. Same green wood paneling, but the carpet had been exchanged for peel-and-stick linoleum tiles. There were rust stains in the basin and around the tub. A small sash window was over the tub, its sill being used to as a shelf for a bottle of shampoo and bar of soap. A mirror hung over the sink, but no medicine chest.

The bedroom was to the left, just off the living room. The double bed was unmade and dirty clothes littered the floor. A telephone and wind-up alarm clock were on the table by the bed. I checked the closets and drawers and found the usual. Sweat socks. Boxers. A couple stained Playboy magazines.

The kitchen was the same as the bathroom. Same Spartan décor. Same peel-and-stick tile. The fridge was bare, containing a couple eggs and an expired half-gallon of milk. An old black rotary phone was attached to the wall. No answering machine. Probably he had a cell phone. I went through the cabinets and drawers, but didn't find anything out of the ordinary there, either.

A car pulled into the drive and curved around to the rear lot, and I looked out the window over the kitchen sink. The car was an older model blue Civic. Grayson Warner stepped out, and my heart jumped up in my throat.

Shit.

Get a grip, I told myself. Now is a really bad time to panic. I ran into the bathroom and stepped into the tub. The window opened at ground level at the rear of the lot. It was narrow and short, and I was neither.

A loud "Fuck!" erupted from outside the apartment and my breath caught in my chest. Probably he'd noticed Lula's handiwork. I stood on the edge of the tub and tugged on the window lock. It didn't budge. There must have been ten coats of paint acting as a seal. My heart started hammering in my chest as I rummaged through my bag. It was filled with bounty-hunting doo-dads. Stun gun. Handcuffs. Mag-Lite. A couple tampons and a nail file.

I rammed the pointy end of the nail file under the lock and hammered it with my palm until the seal broke. Then I worked it around the edges of the window and struggled to slide it open, and threw myself head-first out the window.

My shoulders were a tight fit. That didn't bode well for the rest of me. I got halfway through and my hips got stuck. The metal from the window casing was cutting into my skin as I wiggled and writhed, crawling out inch by inch. I gave myself one final tug and heard a ripping sound. And then I was free.

I got to my feet and dusted myself off. A lot of good it did. I was covered head-to-toe in dirt and dead leaves. My back burned, and there was a draft at the seat of my pants. I felt around and found a hole where my back pocket should have been. Great, I thought. Of all the days to have worn a thong.

I parked in the underground lot at the Haywood office and waited on the elevator. My left-rear pocket was still dangling by a single thread. I heaved a sigh and jerked it off. Then I tried to stretch my shirt to cover most of the hole. When that didn't work, I swung my messenger bag around and checked out my reflection in the elevator. It covered all but about an inch-and-a-half of cheek. Good enough. The elevator doors opened, and I stepped in.

I walked onto the control room floor and headed straight for my cubby. Probably no one would notice. I locked eyes with Tank and he grinned. Then he flipped open his cell phone and took a picture. Ranger had once told me I was listed in his budget under Entertainment. At the time, I had taken it to be a joke. Now I wasn't so sure.

I rolled up to my desk, hoping for a slow rest of the day. It was almost four, and already I had dirt in new places, a good four-inch gash down my back, and an almost bare ass. I opened my inbox to fourteen new requests and let out a sigh. I did Ranger's requests first, followed by the ones with little red flags beside them first. Those were high priority. The rest could wait until tomorrow. I had three searches left at seven, when the control room floor got quiet again.

I poked my head up over my cubby wall and saw Ranger talking to the guys watching the monitor banks. He was wearing the Ranger-equivalent to Morelli's cop-face, and I got that same fight-or-flight feeling in my gut. Ranger could be a scary guy. He made his way over to my cubby and I got a warm feeling in my stomach. A little too warm. I backed up against my desk and knocked my cell phone onto the floor. It slid to a stop under the desk.

"Shit."

Ranger plucked a leaf from my hair and dropped it in the wastebasket. "You should get that."

"Probably."

"But you're not going to."

"No."

Ranger folded his arms and cocked his head to one side.

"I sort-of ripped my jeans," I said. Ranger grinned. Then he walked over and put his hands on my waist, forcing me to lean against my desk for support. He ran his hands along my hips to the insides of my thighs and back again. Then his fingers grazed bare cheek, and his expression softened.

"Jackpot," he said. Then he leaned forward and kissed me.

"We shouldn't be doing this here," I told him.

The corners of his mouth turned up a fraction of an inch. He ran his hands under the back of my shirt, and I flinched. He pulled away and looked at me. "Babe."

"It's just a scratch," I told him.

"Let me see."

I leaned forward and felt Ranger lift my shirt. "You're bleeding." He reached around me and pressed a button on my phone. A dial-tone sounded. He pressed six and Ella answered. "I need a first-aid kit delivered to seven," he told her. Then he lowered my shirt, wrapped his windbreaker around my waist, and led me off the control room floor into the elevator. He pressed a button on his key fob and we rode silently to the seventh floor. Ranger opened the door to his apartment and dropped his keys on the silver plate on the sideboard.

"Take off your pants and lie down on the bed," he said.

"I don't think that's such a good idea."

Ranger's eyes flashed. "It's not a bad one."

There was a knock at the door and Ella came in bearing a first aid kit and a stack of clean towels, which she placed at the foot of the bed. Ranger thanked her, and she left.

I looked from the bed to Ranger and back again. Then I pulled a towel from the stack and wrapped it around my waist before stepping out of my pants. There. Problem solved. I crawled across the huge bed and relaxed face-down with my head on a pillow. Ranger sat down beside me and slid the towel down, and I jumped.

"Relax, Babe." Ranger said. He reached over me for the bottle of antiseptic. "How did this happen?"

"There was a window," I said. "I got stuck in it."

Ranger let out an almost inaudible hmm. "Where was this window?"

I paused a moment and considered my options. Probably Ranger wouldn't like the truth, but I didn't want to lie. I was a good liar, but I wasn't that good. And I didn't want to find out what would happen if I lied to Ranger. Lying to Ranger was likely to get me tossed out a window. Or worse. We could stop being friends.

"I went back to Warner's apartment. He came home and I had to crawl out a window."

I bit down on my bottom lip and waited. Ranger was quiet for a long time. Then he said, "This may sting."

Ranger dabbed something cold and wet on my back. It burned for a couple of seconds and then went numb.

"I thought I made it clear I didn't want you going after Warner alone," Ranger said.

"I didn't 'go after' anyone," I said in my defense. "I checked out his apartment."

"Same thing."

"Not entirely."

Ranger ran two pieces of tape along the seams of the bandage, and pressed them down gently. "All done," he said. But his fingers kept moving south, past the towel, to the backs of my thighs. Then he leaned forward and kissed the back of my neck.

"What are you doing?" I asked him.

He planted another kiss between my shoulders and I stifled a moan.

Oh, boy.


	3. Chapter 3

"I can't stay," I said. "I have things to do. Important things."

"What things?"

"Um..."

I was sure there was something. I just didn't know what. Ranger kissed his way down my spine and I tried not to get too worked up. He slid his hands between my legs and my eyes nearly rolled back in my head.

We lay together when we were done, neither of us saying anything. It was comfortable for a while. Then it was awkward. What were we doing? Ranger had made it clear on more than one occasion that he didn't do relationships, so it wasn't one of those. And I wasn't comfortable with the friends-with-benefits thing, so it wasn't that, either. If I had to guess, I would say it was something in the middle. But what, exactly?

I pulled away and sat up on the bed, looking around for my shirt.

"Stephanie?"

"I have to feed Rex," I said. And it was the truth. I felt like I had been neglecting him these past few weeks. I got up and dressed and pulled on Ranger's windbreaker. It hit me mid-thigh. Ranger pulled on a pair of sweats and looked me over. Then he gave me one of those kisses that told me if I didn't leave now, I wouldn't be leaving for a long time.

I took the elevator from the seventh floor to the underground lot and climbed into my truck. It was after midnight by the time I got back to my apartment. I slid the key into the lock and pushed the door open. Morelli was lounging on my couch, one dusty boot propped up on my coffee table.

"You're working late," Morelli said.

I shrugged and dropped my bag on the floor by the door. Then I shuffled into the kitchen. Rex was in his soup can. I dropped a couple raisins in his bowl and Rex stuck out his head. He sniffed around and sucked the raisins into his cheek pouch. Then he turned around and went back to his soup can.

Morelli had followed me into the kitchen. He passed me a beer and half a roast beef sub. He studied me for a moment. Then he cut his eyes to Ranger's windbreaker.

"It's not what you think," I said to Morelli.

"Does it matter what I think?"

I took a swig of beer. "Maybe."

Morelli ran a finger loosely through one of my curls. "I think you're in over your head, Cupcake."

"If this is about Warner, Ranger's already-"

"It's not about Warner," Morelli said. "It's about you and Ranger." My cheeks flushed and Morelli put on his cop face. "I'm not going to pretend I like this. Ranger's dangerous. He's a psycho. But you're an adult and you can do what you want. God knows I can't stop you."

Morelli moved into the living room and collected his jacket off the back of the couch. He slid it on and adjusted the collar. "Be careful," he said. "And call your mother. She's worried about you."

I showered and changed into an oversized T-shirt. Then I crawled into bed and ordered myself to sleep. I lay there for a while with my eyes closed, but it was no use. I was feeling confused and guilty. Hard to sleep under those conditions. I understood the confusion thing. The guilt thing was new. Sure, I still had feelings for Morelli. Probably I would always have feelings for Morelli. But we weren't together anymore. We hadn't been for some time. So it's not like I had cheated on him. No guilt there. And there was no guilt on the Ranger front, either. We're both adults. And we're attracted to each other. So what was with this guilt thing?

I rolled over and opened one eye to the clock. Five-fifteen. I threw the covers off with a sigh and padded into the bathroom. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and made a face. Bags under the eyes. Frizzy Howard Stern hair. And my Powerpuff Girls boxers were cutting into my skin. No wonder I couldn't fit through that window, I thought to myself. I've been pulling a Valerie and I hadn't even noticed.

Saint Valerie, my sister, had always been perfect. She had the perfect life, perfect kids, a perfect husband, and a Meg Ryan 'do. Then her husband took off with the babysitter and left her with nothing. Valerie came back to Trenton, moved in with my parents, got knocked up, and gained sixty pounds. Now she was doing Weight Watchers three times a week in preparation for her Christmas wedding to a bargain-basement attorney named Albert Kloughn.

I ran back to my bedroom and dragged out the scale. I checked to make sure the little lines met up just right, closed my eyes, and stepped on. I felt the scale sway back and forth, stepped off, and let out a sigh. That wasn't so bad. I took a deep breath and stepped back onto the scale. I opened one eye and looked down. Obviously, the scale hadn't had time to settle. I closed my eyes and counted to ten. Then I opened my eyes and looked down again. One-thirty-seven. Stars danced before my eyes. I put my head between my legs and took in some deep breaths. How could this have happened? TastyKakes, I said to myself. Too many damn TastyKakes.

I gave myself a moment to recover and then pounded into the kitchen. I threw open the fridge and started tossing things out. By the time I was finished, I had a garbage bag full of fattening foods and an empty fridge. It seemed like kind of a waste, so I dug around for the last can of beer and a half-eaten jar of peanut butter. I ate two heaping tablespoons of peanut butter and washed it down with the beer. There. No more guilt about starving kids in third-world countries.

And no more TastyKakes, no more doughnuts, no more Snickers bars or Reese's cups.

I dragged the garbage bag into the hallway and forced it down the garbage chute. Then I changed into a white T-shirt, blue sports bra and matching blue leggings, and laced up my Reeboks. I stuffed my black-on-black Bond Enforcement shirt, black jeans, and an extra set of undies into my duffle, along with my makeup bag, and set out for the office.

I parked in the underground lot and took the stairs to the fifth floor. It was half-past-six and the gym was empty. I set my gym bag on the floor and shrugged out of my tee. There were floor-to-ceiling mirrors on all four walls. The room was filled with electronic torture devices, none of which I knew how to operate. I picked out the most generic-looking treadmill I could find and followed the instructions for a four-mile run. The belt started moving and I hopped on.

A few years ago, I'd taken up running with Ranger. It had lasted all of three days. Now I remembered why. Five minutes into the run and I thought I was going to die.

My legs burned. My head was pounding. There was a stitch in my side and I was sure one of my lungs had collapsed. I was down to two minutes. I closed my eyes and wiped the sweat from my brow. One minute. Fifty seconds. Thirty seconds. Come on, Stephanie. The treadmill slowed to a stop and I had to use the bars to steady myself. I stepped off and collapsed in a heap on the floor. I clasped my stomach and tried to regulate my breathing. My heart was thumping in time to the pain in my head. I couldn't imagine anyone doing this for fun.

I rolled over onto my back and looked up. Ranger was standing over me, smiling all two-hundred watts. He was freshly-shaven, dressed in a black tee and cargo pants. He nudged me in the ribs with the tip of his boot.

"They called me from the control room," he said. "This I had to see for myself."

"If I had any strength left, I would kick you."

"Kick me?"

"Hard." I pulled myself up into a sitting position. "I'm gonna throw up."

Ranger picked me up and helped me into the locker room. I bent down in front of the closest toilet and ralphed up the beer and peanut butter. I rinsed my mouth, and sank down next to the sink. Ranger ran a cloth under the cool water and placed it on my forehead.

"Thanks," I said.

"You're welcome. Feeling better?"

"Not really. I think I may have collapsed a lung."

Ranger gave an almost-grin. "Is this about the window?"

"Among other things."

He pulled me to my feet and held me steady while I regained my balance. My legs still felt like jelly, but were starting to become solid again. I pulled my T-shirt back over my head and picked up my duffle bag, and followed Ranger to the elevator. He unlocked the door to his apartment and ushered me inside.

"I'm going downstairs to make sure they don't have your workout on playback," he said.

"Can they do that?"

Ranger looked at me, but didn't say anything. Gulp. Then he closed and locked the door behind him.

I carried myself to the bedroom, stripped, and peeled the bandage away from my back. I stepped into the shower and immediately I was sucked in by the smell of Bulgari. I resisted the urge to have fun with the shower massager. For one thing, people go blind for doing that. I don't know any off-hand, but I'll bet there are some. For another, the thought of Ranger walking in on that was too disturbing to think about.

There was a knock at the door, and Ella bustled in with two breakfast trays. Ranger sat at the table and unfolded a section of newspaper. Then he treated his bagel with a smear of cream cheese and took a bite. I looked down at my own plate. Three seven-grain pancakes, with tons of butter and maple syrup on the side. I arranged the pancakes in a pile, forced some butter between the flaps, and smothered the entire thing in syrup. I took one bite and my stomach took a dive.

I put my fork down with a clang. Ranger folded the newspaper and set it aside. "Something wrong?"

"Nothing," I said. "I'm just not real hungry this morning."

Ranger gave me a look and took another bite of bagel. "You're always hungry," he said. And it was true. I loved pancakes. Hell, I love anything with the word cake in it. Birthday cake, wedding cake, pancakes, crab cakes, chocolate cakes. You name it.

"I had a big breakfast," I lied.

Ranger grimaced and took a sip of coffee. "I saw your breakfast, Babe," he reminded me.

I poured myself some coffee from the carafe and took a sip. I still had syrup-taste on my tongue and the smell of pancakes kept wafting up my nose. The more I smelled it, the more quickly my stomach flip-flopped. I excused myself from the table, grabbed my bag, and secured my gun at my hip. I clipped my cell phone to my belt and called to Ranger, "See you downstairs."

The morning was slow. I finished up the requests from last night, and waited for new ones. Nada. Zip. Zilch. I called my mother and agreed to come for dinner. Then I fished around the kitchen and ended up with an apple and bottle of water. My phone buzzed just as I had taken the first bite. I wiped juice from my chin with my sleeve and answered.

"Stephanie, thank God." It was Mary Lou. "You're not going to believe this. I'm pregnant. Fucking pregnant!"

"Uh-oh. Are you sure? Have you taken a test?"

"Are you listening? I'm pregnant! I don't need a test to tell me I'm pregnant! I just know."

Then Mary Lou broke down into a fit of sobs. Half an hour later, I agreed to pick up a test and drop it off. I went back to my cubby, locked the computer screen, and grabbed my jacket. I made a mad dash for the elevator and caught it just before it closed.

I picked up an EPT two-pack at a chain drugstore in center city, made an out-of-the-way trip for doughnuts and coffee, and parked at the curb. Mary Lou met me at the door.

"You are a godsend," she said, foregoing the coffee and taking a doughnut in each hand. "Did you get it?"

I opened the brown paper baggie and pulled out the box. Mary Lou stopped chewing and stared, terrified, at the box.

"Breathe," I told her, taking the doughnuts away and replacing them with the box of test strips. I walked her to the bathroom and shut the door, and waited. Ten minutes later, Mary Lou burst out.

"I can't," she said.

"You can," I assured her.

"No, Steph, I can't. I can't go. I've got performance anxiety. I'm under too much pressure. I need a doughnut."

"You just had a doughnut."

"Well, I want another. I'm having a baby, damn it, I need sustenance!"

Mary Lou burst into another crying jag and I handed her a strip of toilet paper. "I'm sure it's just a false alarm," I told her. "I have an idea. You take one test, and I'll take the other. That way we'll both be scared shitless."

Mary Lou looked at me and nodded. Then she went back into the bathroom and closed the door. I heard her turn the faucet and a few moments later she came out with a look of accomplishment stretched across her face.

I slipped into the bathroom and opened the test strip. It looked easy enough. Pee and wait. I turned on the faucet and concentrated. Before too long I'd gotten a pretty steady stream, and plunged the stick under. I replaced the cap and stuck the test strip on the vanity beside Mary Lou's.

Mary Lou was perched on the edge of the couch when I came out.

"Did you do it?" she asked. "Did you see mine? What did it look like? One line or two?"

I took Mary Lou by the shoulders and forced her back onto the couch. Two of her three kids were running around somewhere, laughing and throwing things against the wall. Mary Lou just sat there, wringing her hands and looking dejected. I knew how she felt. The moment I looked at that test, I puckered. Serious, deep-down puckering.

I tried to tell myself to relax, that I wasn't the one on trial. Of course I had nothing to worry about. Unless . . .

Shit.

My gut flattened itself against my spine and plummeted the length of my torso. Ranger. A couple times we hadn't used anything. But I was on the pill, so that was okay, right?

The bells and clanging came back. I stuck my head between my legs and began pleading with God. I'll be a better person. I'll return my mother's calls. I'll go to church. I'll never ever have sex again...

I amended that last one by adding without a condom and hoped God would accept it, anyway.

Mary Lou tapped me on the shoulder. The jury back with the verdict. She had a huge grin on her face, and said, "I'm gonna have a baby."

I exhaled a sharp breath of relief and looked at her test. There was no doubting it. Two lines. I took the other test and checked it. One line in the square, and nothing in the circle. Phew.

I left Mary Lou's house weighing about two pounds. Just like that, a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I pulled into the underground lot and bounded up the stairs, taking two at a time. I stopped at the second floor landing and took the elevator the rest of the way up to five. That bounding-up-the-stairs stuff really takes the breath out of you.

I sauntered across the room back to my cubby, and parked myself in the big leather chair, kicking back with my feet crossed on the desk. I emptied my inbox, hummed the entire score to Rent, and fantasized about Batman.

Ranger appeared out of nowhere and I felt a pool of warmth in my belly. He was wearing a black cashmere sweater with the sleeves pushed to his elbows, black jeans, and boots. The boots looked new, not dusty or scuffed, which meant he hadn't been busy with field work. His hair was damp, and he smelled like fresh Bulgari gel. He leaned against my desk, looked me over, and smiled. I smiled a huge smile back.

"The last time I saw a smile like that, I was taking your underwear off with my teeth." Ranger paused and leaned forward, tipping the chair back. He slid his knee between my legs and rested it on the chair. "Tell me I won't be disappointed."

He was taunting me, enjoying the chase before he went in for the kill. I was feeling brave. Not save-the-world brave, or even squish-a-bug brave. But definitely brave enough for a game of tag. I ran a finger behind Ranger's ear, traveled down his neck to his chest and beyond.

"Babe." His hand caught my wrist before I got to any of the good parts. He moved his knee and leaned back against the desk, almost, but not quite, out of reach.

"I thought you weren't worried about that," I said, nodding in the direction of the camera in the far-left corner of my cubby.

Ranger let out a bark of laughter and shook his head. "I haven't had a camera on you since that time you dropped an M&M down your pants."

My face flushed. "Hey! Ever heard of the Five Second Rule? I got it back with time to spare."

"And distracted six of my men in the meantime."

Impressive.

Ranger leaned back into me and released my hand, calling my bluff. "I'm late for a meeting," he said. "Are you free tonight?"

I shook my head, no. "I have a date," I said, not feeling the least bit guilty for leaving off the part about it being with my parents.

Ranger's eyes flashed. "Morelli?"

I shrugged.

Ranger's mouth flattened into nothing more than a thin line. He leaned forward and brushed his lips across mine. "You're playing with fire," he said.

Then he turned and walked away, leaving me excited and craving a doughnut.


	4. Chapter 4

I was just closing out of the search program when Tank appeared next to my cubby.

"Heard on the scanner there's a situation downtown," he said.

"What kind of situation?"

"A body was found in a dumpster outside the 7-Eleven on Lincoln. Sounds like it might have something to do with your skip."

I bolted out of my chair and shrugged into my windbreaker. "Ranger know about this?" Tank nodded. "Let's go."

Tank and I piled into one of the SUV along with Hal and Butch. Butch was Ranger's height, tan, and built like the rest of the Merry Men. He was on loan from RangeMan's Boston office and specialized in surveillance. And that's about all I knew about him.

The SUV pulled up to a stop across the street from the 7-Eleven and Tank and I got out. The scene was marked off with yellow police tape and several cruisers were securing the area. Tank led the way. We ducked under the tape and made our way over to the crime scene as the coroner loaded the body into an ambulance.

"Clean?" Tank asked on of the officers. The officer nodded and Tank crouched by the dumpster. I stood behind him and looked around for Morelli. He was standing by the back of the building talking to one of the uniformed officers. Our eyes met and he made his way over to me.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," Morelli said to me with a shake of his head. "I half-expected it was you in there. I see you brought friends."

Morelli nodded in Tank's direction. "Ranger's orders," I said. "He worries."

"I worry, Cupcake."

"I know you do."

"But I don't send a guy out looking for you every time you run out for a box of tampons."

I narrowed my eyes on Morelli. He was wearing the same look I'd seen on Ranger earlier. The one that read, Warning: Testosterone Overload. Morelli ran his fingers through his hair. "Chrissake, Stephanie," he said. "When are you going to realize that one day your luck is going to run out? That you're going to piss off the wrong person, and they're not going to wait for you to run to Ranger before they take you out. It's going to be swift and it's going to be permanent."

"Hey!" I interjected. "I do not run to Ranger."

Tank appeared at my side and he and Morelli exchanged nods. "We're through here," Tank said to me. "I'll wait for you back at the truck."

"That won't be necessary," Joe said. I gave him a look. "I've been invited to dinner. I can give you a ride and we can leave from here."

"Okay," I said. Tank nodded and left. I waited around while Morelli finished up and then followed him to his SUV.

"Isn't this nice?" my mom said as she seated herself at the table.

Morelli looked over at me and said in a low voice, "Is that a rhetorical question?"

I elbowed him hard in the ribs and forked some green beans onto my plate. There were ten of us scrunched in behind a table built for eight. I was elbow-to-elbow with Morelli and my sister Valerie, who had just spent the last ten minutes discussing wedding decorations.

"The pumpkin won't work in winter. We were going to do green and red, but then Albert said something about Santa and Mrs. Clause and I got this image in my head of being married in a gingerbread house. So now we're going with blue. But there are so many shades of blue. Navy blue, midnight sky blue, cerulean, periwinkle . . ."

"I can't eat like this," my niece, Mary Alice, said. "I need a stall of my own, so I don't start kicking."

Mary Alice is two years younger than her sister, Angie. She is bright for her age of eight, and thinks she is a horse. We're hoping that last part's just a phase.

"Good horses don't kick," said Grandma Mazur.

"But I need a stall!"

"It's on back-order. Now finish your vegetables."

Mary Alice let out a vehement hmph and went face-down into her mashed potatoes. I guess horses don't need forks and spoons.

To my left, Valerie was tracking her points in a notebook.

"Do you think I should include gravy?" she asked me. "I mean, I only had a little bit. Two tablespoons. I measured. And it came from a powder, so I don't think it will be any big deal if I don't list it on here. Although it's probably full of sodium. And carbs. Oh, god." Valerie leapt up and ran to the kitchen. She came back with a plastic container, and began reading the ingredients. "This says twenty milligrams of sodium, but that's for half-a-cup, prepared. So that means I should add point-seven-two-nine points to my daily log."

Valerie marked it down and looked satisfied. I looked back at my own plate, which was still nearly full. The only things I'd gone through had been the potatoes and the carrots. I'd had two servings of each, but left the rest untouched. Am I good at this dieting thing, or what?

After dinner, my mom went to the kitchen and returned with the cake and ten dessert plates. She cut a large wedge and placed it in front of me.

"None, for me, thanks," I said. "I'm dieting."

There was a collective hush around the table. Morelli was frozen with his fork halfway to his mouth. My mother had to hold onto the back of a chair to steady herself. Refusing dessert was the Burg equivalent to the first plague, a sign of the coming apocalypse.

Valerie leaned over and said, "Don't sweat it, Steph. Just count your points. Look, I can eat this much" Valerie cut her piece of tart in half "and not have to worry about gaining any weight back. It's totally foolproof."

"That's great, Valerie, but I'm fine. Really."

Everyone just sat there, looking at me. Mary Alice had mashed potatoes in her hair, and still they were staring at me. I turned to Joe for support.

"Cupcake, if you want the cake, eat it."

"But I don't want the-"

"Is it bitter?" my mother asked. "Did I bake it too long? Nobody touch the cake. The cake is bad. There's something wrong with it."

"Maybe it's one of them bounty hunter things," Grandma said to Albert Kloughn. "You think she smelled arsenic? Like maybe they can't bomb her car anymore, on account of it being in a secured lot. So now they gotta poison her dessert. Hey, Steph, did you smell arsenic?"

"You can't smell arsenic," I told her. Joe gave me a curious look. "I saw it on Law & Order once."

My father mumbled something that sounded a lot like damn cuckoo's nest, and went back to his cake.

Finally, I'd had enough. Screw the stupid cake. "Alright," I yelled. "I'll eat the cake. All eat the whole damn thing. Gimme."

I jerked my dessert plate away from my mother and started forking it in. I practically put the plate up to my mouth and gobbled the whole thing up in one bite. Morelli was looking at me in goggle-eyed amazement. Probably I'd put a few X-rated ideas into his head. I force-swallowed the last bite just like those people on reality shows who eat cow eyeballs and pushed the plate away. My mouth felt bitter. Sour. I took in a deep breath and held it.

Then I jumped out of my seat and made for the upstairs bathroom. When I was done, I gargled with Listerine and called Morelli on his cell phone.

"Tell them this is work and we have to leave," I said when he answered. "Do it now."

He had our coats ready when I came downstairs.

"Oh, are we leaving?" I asked, feigning surprise.

Morelli gave me a look that told me I was going to hell. Then he said, "Something came up."

"Probably it was a murder," Grandma Mazur said.

"More like, hoping to prevent one," he said.

"Good thinking," said Grandma. "Hey, what's all this whispering about?"

My mother and Valerie were standing by the sink, drying dishes. They looked like they'd been caught using Ranger's shower massager. Valerie looked at my mother and my mother nodded. Then Valerie took a deep breath and said, "We think Stephanie's bulimic."

I reached into my bag for my gun but Morelli caught my arm in time. "Fifteen to twenty," he said. "Unless you can prove justifiable homicide."

"Does this qualify?"

"Not yet."

Grandma chimed in. "She's not bulimic, Helen. She's pregnant."

Morelli let go of my arm. "Aim high and make it look like an accident. We'll say she came after you with a knife."

My father groaned. My mother crossed herself. Grandma continued, "I saw her at Eckerd this morning when I went with Mabel to refill her Vioxx. Picked up one of them EPTs and paid with a twenty."

My mother pulled a bottle of amber liquid from the cupboard and splashed some in a glass, and downed it. Then she crossed herself again.

"Is this true, Steph?" Valerie wanted to know.

"Yes, but-"

Morelli looked at me expectantly. "For the love of God, tell me you're bulimic."

"What? No! I'm not bulimic!"

Valerie let out a squee and pulled me into a hug. "How long have you known?" she asked, feeling my abdomen. "From the looks of it, I'd say you're at least four weeks. Maybe more."

"Is it his?" Grandma wanted to know.

My mother sucked in a deep breath and held it. "Of course it is," she said with rising indignation. "Who else's would it be?"

Grandma shrugged. "I figured she might've went and boffed that Ranger guy." The room went silent. "What? If I was twenty years younger, I'd be all over that."

"There's nothing to be ashamed of." Albert Kloughn stepped forward, wiping sweat from his face with the tail of his shirt. "I mean, look at Valerie and me. We weren't married when we . . . boffed."

"I'm not boffing anyone!" I yelled.

"Oh, well. That's okay, too," Albert said. "I hadn't boffed anyone before Valerie. Except for that one time in Vegas. My friends had all chipped in to buy me this..." He stopped short and gulped. "What I mean is, I figured it out. I'm sure you'll do fine. Just make sure the condom isn't dripping when you're done."

Mary Alice galloped through, neighing and pawing the ground with her feet. "Boff! Boff! Boff!" She neighed again. "Do horses boff?"

"Horses boff from behind," said Grandma. "Now go back upstairs with your sister and let the grown-ups talk."

Somewhere in the living room, my father turned the volume on the TV up full-blast. My mother sunk into one of the dining room chairs, clutching her hand to her heart. I had to physically assault Valerie so she would leave my stomach alone. And Morelli was standing immobile, looking like he'd just gotten a swift kick to the gonads. All in all, a typical family dinner.

I put two fingers to my mouth and whistled. "Enough!" I said once I had everyone's attention. "I'm not boffing anyone. And I'm not pregnant. Mary Lou needed a test, so I dropped it off. She's the one having the baby."

I turned to Morelli. Some of the color had returned to his face, but his eyes were still the size of goose eggs. "I need some air," he said. Then he stepped outside, angled into his truck, and sped off toward the end of the street.

I waited on the stoop for him to double-back. Grandma stuck her head out the door. "What are you doing out here?"

"I needed a cigarette."

"You don't smoke. And it's a good thing, too. Bad for the baby." I glared Grandma, zipped my windbreaker, and pulled my knees to my chest. "Suit yourself," she said.

At half-past nine, I flipped open my cell and dialed Ranger.

"Yo."

"I need a ride."

"Bad date?" He sounded amused.

"Ha, ha. Very funny."

"Where are you now?"

"At my parents'."

He was silent for a moment. Then he said, "I'll send Tank. He'll be there in ten."

"Coward."

There was a click and Ranger dropped off the line.

I was still waiting on the stoop for Tank's SUV when I heard the soft purr of a Porsche. The Turbo glided to a stop in front of my parents' duplex and the tinted passenger-side window slid down. Ranger was behind the wheel. I melted into the comfy leather seats and fastened the seatbelt around my waist.

"I thought you were sending Tank," I said.

Ranger looked like he was thinking about smiling. "I thought maybe you were in the mood for company. Tank snores."

"That's very considerate of you."

Ranger reached over and put a hand on my thigh. "Where to?"

We were paused at an intersection. If we went left, we would end up at my apartment. If we went right, we would pass by the RangeMan office. My apartment had the home-court advantage. Ranger's had that amazing shower. Both held a high probability that I would wake up with my panties on the floor.

I shrugged. Ranger turned right and I grew warm in all the right places. He pulled into the underground lot and eased into his parking space. We rode the elevator to the top floor and by the time he'd gotten the key in the lock, he was rounding third. I stepped out of my pants somewhere between the foyer and the living room, and had a strong suspicion my bra was still in the elevator. That's what sucks about being the only woman working for Ranger besides his housekeeper. Every time a pair of underwear is left in the elevator, or a peanut butter sandwich found under the seat of the SUV, I get the blame.

He pulled me to him and lifted my shirt over my head. Then he leaned forward and whispered some of the things he wanted to do and my knees nearly gave way. Ranger knew how to party.

We made it into Ranger's bedroom and I watched him as he stripped. I knew for a fact he carried at least two guns and a knife, but the only one I could find was the Glock holstered on his hip. I figured the knife could be hidden somewhere in his boot. I decided not to think about the other gun.

He lowered me onto the bed and kissed his way down my body. He looped a finger around the waistband of my panties and I lifted my hips as he inched them down. There were a lot of things Ranger did well. My favorite thing happened to be one of them. He slipped my panties over my knees and tossed them on the floor behind him. Then he kissed his way up the inside of my thigh and swirled his tongue over that spot, and I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. When he was done, he made his way back up until we were eye level. He kissed me again and asked, "Bottom or top?"


	5. Chapter 5

I woke up the next morning wrapped in a brown duvet and Ranger. I rolled over and pulled the sheet up to my throat. Ranger was clean-shaven and still damp from his shower. He had on a pair of black sweatpants and nothing else. He was on his side, his brown eyes fixed on me.

"What time is it?" I asked.

"Late."

I sat up and looked at the clock. It was just after eight. I fell out of bed and stumbled around in the sheet, struggling to keep covered. I gathered the excess fabric under my free arm and looked around for my panties. "Why didn't you set the alarm?"

Ranger pulled a black T-shirt over his head and smoothed down the front. "Babe, I set the alarm. Twice. You slept through it."

I knew he wasn't lying. I routinely slept through my alarm. It was the reason I had lost my job at the button factory, as well as a number of FTAs. I locked myself in his bathroom and turned on the water to as hot as I could stand it, and eased myself under the water. This time, it was purely therapeutic. I ached everywhere. When I'd done all the necessary scrubbing, I turned off all the jets and wrapped myself in Ranger's bathrobe, tying it loosely at my hips. Then I towel-dried my hair and stepped into the bedroom. I found my panties sticking out from under the locked gun drawer, but there was still the issue of the missing bra.

Ranger was at the table, half-hidden behind a section of newspaper. He folded the newspaper and set it aside as I took my seat.

"I'm feeling a little underdressed," I said to Ranger. "I'm missing a few things."

The line of Ranger's mouth curved up slightly. "I've asked Ella to find something for you to wear. She'll be by later."

I nodded and looked in one of the linen-covered baskets on the table. Doughnuts. Chocolate glazed with pink and yellow sprinkles. I picked one up and tore it in half. "Did you do this?"

Ranger shook his head. He filled our coffee mugs and treated his bagel with a smear of cream cheese. "No. That stuff will kill you. Ella likes to bake, though. She seems to think you shouldn't be treated like the rest of the men."

"And you?"

"Babe, you're in my bathrobe."

Fair enough. I finished off the first doughnut and reached for another. Ranger had finished his bagel and was leaned back in his chair watching me.

"What are we doing?" I asked through a mouthful of doughnut.

Ranger leaned forward and set his coffee cup on the table. "Having breakfast?"

"That's not what I meant."

Ranger's face went blank and he sucked in some air. I knew what that meant. First rule of sex with Ranger: Don't talk about sex with Ranger.

"I'm going for a run," he said. Then he walked over and kissed the top of my head, and left.

The doorbell rang a short while later and I opened it to a beaming, scarlet-lipped Ella Guzman. She carried in several large shopping bags and placed them at the foot of the bed. I opened one of the bags and looked inside. There were five pairs of panties and a three bras. Five black T-shirts. Two pairs of cargo pants and two pairs of jeans. All black. I dressed in the bathroom and did my best at the hair and makeup thing. When I came out, Ella was re-arranging some of Ranger's things in order to free up a drawer.

Gulp.

"That's not necessary," I said. "I'm not here that often. Only when my apartment's not safe." Or when I'm having sex with my boss. Oh, god.

"Nonsense," Ella said. "There's more than enough space." Then she started pulling things out of their respective bags, folding them, and placing them neatly in the free drawer. I had a feeling she had gone a bit overboard. I had been expecting a pair of pants and a shirt. Probably something I'd left behind, which had ended up in the laundry. There were at least five bags of new things, including two black camisoles, a couple long-sleeved tees, and a pair of pink pajamas.

I laced my boots while she straightened the living room, and gave my lips another swipe of gloss. Then I grabbed my messenger bag, dropped my gun in with two fingers, and took the elevator to the underground lot.

I pulled onto Hamilton and drove on auto-pilot to my building. Morelli's SUV was parked in the lot when I got there. I pulled up and peeked inside. Empty, which meant he was in my apartment. My stomach twisted. I was still feeling a little guilty over the whole Ranger thing. And I was pissed. He left me on a stoop! I climbed back into my truck and took off with a squeal. I was halfway to the nearest Dunkin' Donuts when Morelli called my cell.

"Cupcake," he said when I answered.

"Asshole!"

I screamed in frustration and slammed the phone into the steering wheel a few times. When I was finished, the bottom half of the phone was dangling loosely at the joint and the antenna was bent in an L-shape. My heart was pounding so hard in my chest that my hands were shaking. I came two inches away from swiping a row of parked cars, swerved back into my lane, and then angled into a Safeway parking lot and jerked to a stop in front of the cart-return. Then I put the phone back to my ear.

"Okay, so you're mad," he said in an exasperated tone. I resisted the urge to crawl through the phone and punch him in the nose.

"You're damn right I'm mad!" I yelled into the phone. "You left me on a stoop!"

Morelli sighed audibly. "I did. And I'm really sorry. What do you say you come back to your apartment and we talk about it?"

"Eat shit and die, jerk!"

"I have Pino's. And beer."

I considered this for a moment. Then I screamed some more profane insults into the phone and disconnected. Morelli was waiting for me outside my door when I arrived at the second-floor landing. I pushed past him into the kitchen and deposited my gun into the brown bear cookie jar. This had been a lot easier when I had a revolver. It had melted down in the Cluck in a Bucket fire a couple months ago. The Sig was a lot larger and more awkwardly positioned. I gave up, leaving part of the butt hanging out, and opened the fridge. I pulled out a beer and chugged half of it, and then moved onto the pizza. It was still warm in the middle. I tore off a strip of crust and dropped it into Rex's food bowl. The rest of the slice was for me. I ate half of it, chugged the rest of the beer, and turned to face Morelli. He was leaning in the doorway with his hands shoved into his pockets.

"You didn't come home last night."

"I stayed with a friend," I said thickly. I opened another beer and tried to drink away the guilt. Not a lie, I told myself. Not the complete truth, but still not a lie. Except it sure felt like one.

"I can read between the lines on that one."

My heart was beating harder than usual. I felt like every part of my body had Ranger Was Here tattooed on it. Our eyes locked and I was hit with another guilt-attack. Morelli tried to swallow the look of pissed-off male ego, and failed.

"Has he invited you over to his empty lot yet?"

"You're being ridiculous." I swept past him into the living room.

"Am I?"

"Yes, you are."

"I don't think so. Do you even know his name? Where he lives? Where his funding comes from?"

I glared at Morelli. With the exception of question number one, I hadn't the slightest. Ranger wasn't big on the whole divulging information thing, but he wasn't big on the lying thing, either. And more importantly, I trusted him.

"Leave Ranger out of this," I said. "This has nothing to do with him."

"Bullshit."

"And what about you?" I asked. "I waited on you for over an hour."

Morelli ruffled his hair. It was part of his self-control routine. Next would be the knuckle-crack. And then his jaw would tighten. "I freaked out," he said. "But your grandmother was so sure. And then your sister, with that whole stomach thing..."

"Right. And your grandmother has never claimed to know the contents of my uterus."

Morelli's Grandma Bella was the matriarch of the Morelli clan. If I had to guess her age, I would set it somewhere between seventy and one-hundred. She claims to be blessed with the gift of foresight, and makes a killer sausage lasagna. Her favorite pastimes include predicting my untimely death, afflicting her unsuspecting enemies with The Eye, a sort-of Italian Burg voodoo, and torturing puppies. Okay, so I wasn't completely sure about the puppies. But I wouldn't be surprised if it happened to be true.

"That's different," Morelli said. "Everyone knows Grandma Bella is crazy."

"Grandma Mazur is crazy," I scoffed. "Grandma Bella is psychotic."

Morelli's cell phone buzzed at his hip. He unclipped it and read the display, and let out a sigh. "I have to go. Enjoy the pizza."

Then he picked his jacket up off the couch and closed the door behind him.

I ate another slice of pizza and fell back onto my bed in my thinking position. I had a tire of flab around my waist and a huge lump in my throat. And I'd just slept with Ranger...again. Okay, so that last part wasn't so bad. Or was it? A tear slid down my cheek and I sniffled. Then, before I could stop myself, I was sobbing for no good reason. And not just a little sobbing, either. Big, loud mouth-open sobs, which clogged my sinuses and gave my waterproof mascara a run for its money. What was that about?

I wiped my nose on the tail of my shirt and buried my head in my pillow. I tried telling myself I had no reason to be acting this way, that I had an FTA to catch, for chrissake, but that only depressed me more. I heard my cell phone go off in the kitchen. Probably more bad news, I decided. I pulled the covers tightly around my head and closed my eyes. I was half-asleep when I the little hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. There was the unmistakable smell of Bulgari shower gel in close proximity, followed by a noticeable weight as Ranger sat on the edge of the bed.

"Babe," he said, pulling the covers back, "you're a mess."

"Go away," I mumbled. Ranger tore off a strip of toilet paper and handed it to me. I blotted my nose and hiccupped another half-sob. "I'm fat, I'm alone, and I'm thirty."

"Thirty isn't old."

"I never said it was."

Ranger shook with silent laughter. "Get ready. We're going on a field trip."

I sighed and rolled out onto the floor. I picked myself up and shuffled into the bathroom. I had long black streaks running down my face. Waterproof, my ass. I soaked my entire face in eye makeup remover and scrubbed it clean. Then I shoved my hair up under a ball cap and changed into a sweater and jeans. Ranger was on the couch watching a documentary on the Marine Expeditionary Unit when I came out. He took one look at the sweater and his eyes went dark.

We crossed the lot to Ranger's black SUV and climbed in.

"Shouldn't I be wearing a blindfold? Maybe a pair of cuffs?"

Ranger hid behind a pair of Ray-Bans. "The night's still young, Babe."

"Where are we going, anyway?" I asked. "The Bat Cave?"

Ranger almost grinned. Then he looked at me and said, "No. Marsillio's."

"Even better." I sunk into the seat and rested my head against my palm. I tried to catch a glimpse of myself in the side mirror, but couldn't see past the tinted windows. Probably it was for the best. I felt splotchy.

I shifted in my seat. "What's your name?" I asked.

Ranger arched and eyebrow and turned to face me, glancing at the road every few seconds. "Babe, you know my name."

"Just checking."

Ranger let out a sigh. He looked like he could use another run.

"I think we should set some ground rules."

"What did you have in mind?" Ranger asked.

"Well, your closet, for starters. I assume you've seen it." Ranger grimaced. "It wasn't my idea, I swear."

"I know. I've already spoken to Ella."

"It's not her fault," I said. "She thinks I'm Julia Roberts."

Ranger was shaking with silent laughter. "Babe?"

"You know," I explained, "in Pretty Woman."

The corners of his mouth dropped as comprehension dawned on him. "She thinks I'm paying you?"

"Well, you are."

"Not for that."

"No, not for that. And don't worry. I think she got the gist." Ranger nodded. "You should probably take all that stuff back, too." Except for the pajamas. Those would have to be pried from my cold, dead hands.

"That's okay," he said. "And you can keep the drawer. I like the idea of being that close to your underwear." He reached over and ran a finger along the inside of my thigh. Heat rushed into all the right spots, and I felt my cheeks flush.

"And then there's that other thing."

"What thing?"

"Well, the whole sleeping-together thing."

The grimace returned and Ranger moved his hand from the inside of my thigh and rested it on the steering wheel. He shifted in his seat and pretended to check his rear-view mirror. And that was the end of the conversation.

We were seated at a table in the back. Ranger was watching me finish off the last of the tiramisu. Neither of us had said much during dinner. No surprise there. Ranger wasn't big on small talk.

I pushed the plate away and looked at Ranger. We'd done dinner loads of times before. It was platonic. Just two friends out grabbing a bite to eat. This felt different somehow. This felt like work.

"Okay," I said, folding my arms over my chest. "Let's hear it."

Ranger was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "I want you to give up Warner."

I don't know what I had expected, but that certainly wasn't it. I narrowed my eyes on Ranger and asked, "Is that what this is about?"

Ranger shook his head. "No," he said. "This was about dinner. Warner is business."

"You should know better than to mix business with pleasure."

We stared at each other for a full minute before he continued. "Warner is a high bond. And he's dangerous. He should've come to RangeMan."

"Vinnie didn't give Warner to RangeMan," I said, trying to keep my voice as calm and even as Ranger's. It wasn't working. "He gave him to me. And I intend to collect."

Personally, I didn't give a shit about bringing in Warner. But I didn't like Ranger's attitude. Both he and Morelli had a nasty habit of stepping in and taking over when they thought things were over my head. The only difference was that Morelli yelled and cursed and fought about it. Ranger was a little more subtle. And a lot more sneaky.

"I'm not used to my men disobeying a direct order," Ranger said in a low tone.

"I thought we had come to the understanding that I'm not like your men," I shot back.

Ranger was blank-faced, staring at me. He didn't look angry, but with Ranger it was hard to tell. Then he said, "One week. You'll have full access to RangeMan's resources, and you'll be working with a team. You'll carry loaded at all times or the deal's off. Those are the terms."

"What if I don't like those terms?"

"I'll call Vinnie and have him pull Warner tomorrow."

He had me there. Vinnie might be family, but he was also a spineless weasel. He'd castrate himself before he crossed Ranger.

I sighed. "Then I guess we have a deal."

I let Ranger pay for dinner and we climbed back in the SUV. It was a little after seven and already it was dark out. We were on the way back to my apartment when my cell phone rang. I pulled it out of my bag by the L-shaped antenna. The rest of the phone dangled loosely by the few remaining joints. I pressed the green button, but the phone kept ringing, so I pressed it again. I kept pressing the button until I could hear Morelli on the other end.

"Working late again?"

"Don't start."

"I need a favor."

"Okay."

"Okay, you'll do it?"

"Okay, tell me what it is and then I'll decide."

Morelli sighed. "I have to go to Boston to give a deposition. I need someone to Bob-sit."

"For how long?"

"A few days. A week, tops."

I nodded to myself. "Fine. I'll pick him up on the way home."

"That's okay," Morelli said. "I let him into your apartment before I left."

"You what? He'll eat the place down!"

"Sorry, Cupcake. You're breaking up." Morelli faked some static noise and disconnected. I folded my cell phone and it broke clean in half. I dropped both pieces into my bag and kicked it.

We pulled into the lot at my apartment complex and Ranger shut off the engine, and turned to face me. His eyes were set on me, unwavering. He was twirling a stray curl between his fingers. Then he trailed his fingers around my neck and pulled me into a kiss. His tongue slid past my lips and I gripped his shirt at the shoulders.

"Maybe I should come up," he said. "Make sure no one's waiting on you."

t would have been sexy had it been a come-on.

I nodded, and we kissed some more. Then I waited while he beeped the SUV locked, and we took the elevator to the second floor.

"Going up," said Mrs. Bestler. She looked Ranger up and down and then turned to me. "There's a funny smell coming from your apartment. We think maybe you've got another dead body in there."

I gave myself a mental head-slap and cursed Morelli aloud. The elevator doors opened and we were all three hit with some particularly nasty fumes.

"Oh, God," I said, pressing the doors closed again. Then I threw up a little in my mouth. I braced myself and pressed the Open button again. I ran down the hall and threw open the apartment door, and gagged. My apartment was covered in stinky, sticky, slimy Bob-vomit.

I rushed forward to open one of the windows and slid in some clear puke, and fell flat on my ass. I made a wailing sound and took off into the bathroom. I stepped into the bathtub, boots and all, and turned on the shower. Then I started peeling off the yucky clothing. I threw up a little in the toilet, rinsed my mouth, and padded back into the living room armed with a wad of toilet paper. I was sopping wet, clad in only lace panties and the purple cami. I used the toilet paper to wipe up one of the pools of dog barf and made a few disgusting sounds as I dumped it into the toilet. I grabbed another wad of toilet paper and ran back into the living room. Ranger was kneeling by the couch where Bob lay, still and lifeless, except for the occasional wheezing.

"You!" I screamed at Bob. I swooped down and wiped up another pile and ran back to the bathroom, and flushed it. "You are so going to - Gaaaargh! I stepped in it! I fucking stepped in it! Damn it!" I hobbled to the bathroom on one leg and climbed back into the shower. I sat on the edge of the tub and scrubbed the bottom of my foot until my fingers were sore.

"That's it!" I walked back into the living room and picked up the cordless phone. Morelli answered after the third ring. "You son-of-a-bitch!" I cradled the phone between my ear and shoulder as I bent down to wipe up another vomit-puddle and carried it into the bathroom.

"Now what?" Morelli sighed.

"Don't you 'now what' me, asshole! You did it on purpose, didn't you? What did you feed him? Butter? Shaving cream? A handful of those little packets of stuff that come with new shoes? You know how he just loves those!"

"Uh-oh."

"You ruined my apartment!" I screamed.

"I didn't do it on purpose, I swear. He was hungry, so I gave him some pizza. That's all. I didn't even feed him the box this time."

I ran to the fridge and opened the pizza box. There were still three pieces left. Probably Morelli had left them for me as a snack. I disconnected, cleaned up the last of the mess, and opened all of the windows so the place would air out. Bob was still on my couch with his big purple tongue sticking out. Ranger held one of Bob's eyes open, then scratched him behind the ears. Bob's tail gave a half-hearted wag.

"You've got a very sick dog here, Babe." Ranger pressed on Bob's stomach and Bob coughed. "Any idea what he could have gotten into?"

I shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. Morelli says he just gave him some pizza."

Ranger got up and went to the fridge. He pulled the pizza box out, opened it, took a piece, and sniffed. "How long have you had this?" he asked.

"Morelli picked it up this afternoon."

Ranger touched his finger to a slice and put it to his tongue. Then he made a face went back to the couch.

"Hurry up and get dressed," he said.

He slid his arms under Bob and lifted him with ease. I jumped up and down in a pair of tighter-than-usual jeans, buttoned the fly, and slid my feet into a pair of sneakers.

"Why? What's going on?"

"Babe, your dog's been poisoned."


	6. Chapter 6

I locked my apartment and followed Ranger to the elevator. We crossed the lot at a mild jog, with Bob's head bobbing up and down like dead weight. I opened the back passenger door and helped Ranger slide him onto the leather seat. Then I crawled over the front seat and buckled myself in.

Ranger tore out of the lot onto Hamilton and auto-dialed a number on his cell phone. I listened while he asked the person on the other line for the address of the nearest emergency vet and turned to look at Bob. I reached out and touched a paw. His breathing was becoming more erratic and his eyes were glazed over. I gave a dry gulp and tried to stay positive. Of course he was going to be okay. He had to be.

Ranger made a few noncommittal sounds into the phone and punched some more stuff into the GPS. "Hold on," he said to me. Then he forced the SUV into a U-turn so fast that my head jerked back. Bob looked like he hardly noticed. He coughed a little and went back to his wheezing.

"What's wrong with him?" I asked. Ranger gave me a look which made me reconsider whether or not I really wanted to know. We pulled to a stop in front of a small brick building with double glass doors. He leaned on the horn and a woman with short blonde-gray hair met us at the door. She was wearing a set of purple scrubs with Dr. Mary Walsh embroidered on the pocket and had a stethoscope draped around her neck. She led us past the reception area into a room filled to near capacity by an exam table and two chairs. There was a series of light-boxes on the right and a locking cabinet underneath. Ranger deposited Bob on the table while I bit my nails in the background.

"What do we have here?" Dr. Walsh asked. She took a pen light from her pocket and lifted up one of Bob's eyelids. Then she checked his teeth and gums. She made a few hmm sounds, listened to Bob's chest with her stethoscope, and pressed a few times on his stomach. He responded by making a strained whimper. She scratched him lightly on the head and then turned to me and said, "I'd like to run a few blood tests. And we'll need a chest X-ray. Do you know what he got into? Rat poison? Pesticide?"

I shook my head. "I don't have any of those."

Dr. Walsh nodded. "There's a reception area at the front. You'll be more comfortable there. Help yourself to the coffee. I'll check back with you soon."

Ranger wrapped an arm around my shoulders and ushered me into the waiting area. We took a seat next to a dog food display and I rested my head in my hands. "I killed Morelli's dog," I cried. "I broke up with him, and I killed his dog."

"Morelli's used to you breaking up with him," said Ranger. "And Bob isn't dead. Babe, you're shivering."

I sniffled back another crying fit and shrugged my arms around myself. I was still in my wet cami. No jacket. No bra. And it was below freezing outside. Ranger slipped out of his windbreaker and draped it around my shoulders.

"Thanks."

We waited in the reception area for a while until Dr. Walsh came back with news on Bob. So far, so good. I gave them my home and office numbers, and then forked over my Gold MasterCard and prayed it wouldn't be rejected. Ranger and I piled back into the SUV and backtracked into Trenton, taking the full twenty-two minutes this time. We pulled into the lot and Ranger killed the engine.

"Don't worry," I said, shrugging out of his windbreaker. "I'll be okay."

"I can't let you stay here, Babe."

"What? Why not?"

"Someone broke into your apartment and spiked your pizza with rat poison."

"We don't know that." Ranger looked slightly perturbed. "Okay, so it's likely. But it's not like I'm going to eat it now."

"And your shampoo? Hairspray? Lipstick?"

"I'm not going to eat those either."

Ranger rested his head on the steering wheel. "It isn't safe. Come back to the office, and I'll have someone clean your apartment tomorrow."

I thought about this for a half-second. "No," I said. "This is my home. I want to stay."

Ranger unfastened his seatbelt and stepped out of the truck.

"What are you doing?"

"Babe, it's cold. I would prefer to sleep inside if that's alright with you."

I nodded and we took the elevator to the second floor. Ranger stepped out first and walked the length to my apartment. I slid the key in the lock, turned it back, and opened the door. Everything was just as I'd left it. It was freezing inside. In all the rush with Bob, I'd forgotten to shut the windows. I hugged myself for warmth and locked the windows in the living room. Then I moved into my bedroom warily. The window in my bedroom opened onto an old fire escape. A poor woman's balcony, perfect for drying clothes in summer, or chilling beer in winter. Not so great if your apartment is routinely broken into by people who, for whatever reason, want to see you dead. A few years ago, when I'd first started this bond enforcement gig, I had awakened to find an unconscious Lula splayed across this same fire escape. She had been brutalized in the worst possible way by a psychotic boxer with a fondness for sexually mutilating women.

"Did you leave that open?" Ranger wanted to know. He made a few clicking sounds with his gun.

I shook my head. "I don't think so."

He swept past me and opened the closet. He checked under the bed and looked around for anything out of the ordinary. Then he re-holstered his Glock at his hip and closed and locked the window.

"Nothing," he said. "Whoever was here decided not to stick around."

Thank God for that. I shuffled into the kitchen and swiped a beer from the fridge. It was still sealed and popped when I opened it, so I figured the chances were slim it had been given the old skull-and-crossbones. I tipped the can up and guzzled for a few seconds. Then I turned and tapped on Rex's soup can. Nothing. I tapped on it again and Rex's nose appeared, followed by two beady eyes. He looked at me and then turned to his food bowl. It was empty, so he slunk back into his soup can

I took another swig of beer. Ranger was leaning in the doorway when I turned around.

"Where did you get that?"

"Beer fairy," I said. "Want one?"

Ranger grimaced.

"It fizzed when I opened it!"

Ranger shook his head and moved into the living room. I finished the beer, quieted a burp with the back of my hand, and tossed the can into the trash. It bounced off the side and landed in the corner. I staggered over, braced myself against the wall and bent over to pick up the beer can, and tossed it in. Something black caught my eye atop the hoard of white, crumpled Kleenexes. I leaned closer and picked it out. It was my Rangeman ID. There was a hole burned through my picture.

My blood ran cold. I turned to Ranger and said, "I think I know who was in my apartment. It was Warner."

Ranger walked over and examined the ID. "Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure."

The line of Ranger's mouth went tight. "I don't suppose you would consider going out of town for a few days."

"I don't suppose I would."

I patted him playfully on the back, walked over to the fridge, and peered inside. I felt a pang when I looked at the pizza box. What a waste of good Pino's. I could have used some pizza after a night like tonight. I opened the lid and looked inside. Maybe he didn't get all the pieces, the beer said. Probably I could scrape off all the toxins and eat the rest.

Ranger shut the refrigerator door. "Don't even think about it."

I let out all the air from my lungs and said, "I'm starving. Why did he have to ruin my pizza?"

"I don't think he was after your pizza, Babe. And I don't think he was after your dog, or your hamster."

Ranger's cell buzzed. He checked the display and stepped into the living room to answer it. My stomach was growling. I mentally berated myself for throwing out all of that good food. I opened the cabinet above the stove and felt around the top shelf. Empty, except for what appeared to have once been a rice cake, and a packet of banana-flavored instant oatmeal. I turned my nose up at the oatmeal, tossed it back onto the top shelf, and turned my attention to the rice cake. Once I deemed it inedible, I tossed it into the trash along with the empty beer can.

I couldn't remember if I had cleaned out my freezer. Probably it was a dead end, but I didn't have anything else to lose. Besides, there was the off-chance I had forgotten a frozen cheesecake, or maybe a half-pint of Ben & Jerry's. I opened the door and looked in. Nothing but a brown paper bag.

My mouth went sour. I reached out and took the bag despite my better judgment. The top was folded down neatly three times, and sealed with a large yellow smiley face. My fingers trembled as I released the seal and unfolded the bag, and looked inside.

I felt like I had been hit on the head with a cartoon mallet. There were stars dancing around. Then I felt the room start tipping, and I smacked the linoleum with a thud.

Ranger was crouching over me when I came to.

"Did you see?" I asked.

Ranger nodded. "Know whose it is?"

I shook my head. He helped me sit up and I pulled my knees to my chest. Suddenly the pizza didn't seem so important. At least, not as important as the whole not-dying thing. Someone had left a severed hand in my freezer, along with a picture of me in my purple cami. It appeared to have been taken while I was on the phone with Morelli.

"Is that offer still good?"

Ranger's eyebrows raised a fraction of an inch and he nodded. Then he pulled me to my feet and set me on the couch. Sirens were beginning to wail in the background. "You should call Morelli," he said.

"Probably."

Ranger handed me his phone, kissed the top of my head, and stood in wait for the officers.

Morelli answered using his cop voice. Ten-to-one he had already gotten a call from one of his cop-buddies.

"I found a hand in my freezer," I told him.

"So I hear."

"I thought you might like to know."

"That's very thoughtful of you. Is anyone there?"

I crossed the room and leaned out the window. "Two blue-and-whites are pulling in now."

Morelli was quiet for a moment and I realized he hadn't been referring to the police. He had been referring to Ranger. I did a mental head-slap when I remembered I was using Ranger's cell phone. There were two police officers at the door by the time Morelli spoke again. When he did, the cop-voice was nearly overshadowed by a swill of testosterone.

"If there's nothing else, I could really use the sleep."

"Actually, there's more," I said. Then I told Morelli about Bob.

"Let me get this straight," Morelli said. "Vinnie assigned you to this nutcase because he figured you were a cheap and easy target, which you've just proven by allowing your apartment to be broken into, your food poisoned, and a severed hand stuffed in your freezer."

I thought about this for a moment. "Yeah, that about sums it up."

"Jesus. Just tell me you're not staying in your apartment tonight."

"Okay."

Pause. "Now tell me you're not staying with Ranger."

"I think maybe you should get some sleep."

Morelli disconnected. I flipped Ranger's cell phone closed and tossed it back to him. The police were just finishing up in the apartment. I swiped Rex's aquarium from the counter and noticed the lid was back on my cookie jar. I made eye contact with Ranger, and he gave a slight nod.

Ranger unlocked his apartment and ushered me inside. I put Rex's cage on the kitchen counter and tossed in a grape and a pinch of granola. He sucked the grape into his cheek pouch, but turned his nose up at the granola. Like mother, like hamster. I then went to the bedroom and watched as Ranger shed himself of all his peripherals: Watch, pager, cell phone, Glock, a couple credit cards and cash, neatly folded and clipped. I emptied my pockets and came up with two wadded-up dollar bills, a ponytail elastic, and the top portion of a condom wrapper. Huh, I thought.

Ranger walked up behind me and gathered his arms around my waist. He kissed his way down my neck to my shoulder, gently slipping the camisole strap down.

"I need a shower," I said. And it was the truth. I just wasn't sure what kind of shower I needed: Ice cold, or hot, with one of those hand-held shower massagers. Definitely the latter held more appeal.

"Need a hand?"

I tried to shake my head in protest, but ended up doing the nuzzling thing when his hand crept up the bottom of my shirt. "I can manage."

Ranger spun me around and kissed me. He fiddled with the buttons on my jeans while I grabbed a fistful of T-shirt, and shrugged them just below my hips. Then he did some wonderful things with his fingers, stopping right at the good part. "Still think you can manage?"

"Bastard," I breathed. I scurried away and locked myself in the bathroom. I turned on the water and waited for my heart to regain its rhythm. Sleeping with Ranger still scared the shit out of me. Funny, considering how good I'd gotten at it. I glanced around for a camera and then stepped in and lathered myself in that sweet Bulgari gel. I took one whiff and had to bite my lip to keep from making a sound. Maybe I did need some help, I thought. Maybe I needed a lot of help.

I stepped out of the shower and wrapped myself in a towel. I poked my head around the corner half-expecting to see Ranger reposed on the bed, legs crossed at the ankles, and was surprised at my disappointment that the room was empty. I looked around and realized his cell phone and gun were gone, too. On the night stand, a single word had been written on a sheet of Rangeman stationary. Babe, it read.

I heaved a sigh and threw myself backwards onto the bed, and lay stretched out in my thinking position for a while. Then I got up, melted into those heavenly pink pajamas, and crawled between the sheets.

It was almost six when I woke up. Ranger was perched on the bed, unlacing his boots. I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. "What happened? Had to throw someone out the window again?"

Ranger turned and flashed one of his rare full-on smiles. "Something like that."

Then his eyes dropped to the pajamas. He reached over and ran a finger along the neckline, and in one fell swoop, had managed to unbutton it down to my navel.

"Soft," he said. Then he slid his hand inside. My nipples contracted, and I gasped. Ranger leaned forward and grazed his lips along my collarbone. Then he slid his hand into the pajama bottoms. That warm tension pooled in my abdomen and I worked my hips in rhythm to his fingers. I was close-so close! I was almost there!

And then his cell phone went off.

Ranger paused and I gasped. "Leave it!"

"Babe."

"I'm serious."

Ranger kissed me lightly on the lips and pushed away. He checked the display and did the tight-mouth thing. Then he clipped the cell phone to his belt and started getting dressed. Damn it.

"No way," I said. Ranger had already laced his boots and was pulling a black T-shirt over his head. "No effing way! I was just about to . . . you know!"

"Get some sleep," Ranger said. "I don't know how long I'll be."


	7. Chapter 7

Tank was leaning against my desk at ten after nine. I handed him a cup of coffee and a doughnut, then crashed into my chair. "Guess you got the short stick, huh?"

Tank set the doughnut on a napkin at the edge of my desk, took a sip of coffee, and shook his head. "I volunteered. Helping you might be more hazardous than surveillance, but it's sure as hell a lot more fun."

I rolled my eyes and bit into my doughnut. Tank continued. "There's an issue with your truck," he said.

"Oh, shit. It blew up, didn't it?"

"No."

"So it got graffitied?" Tank shook his head. "Then I'm fresh out of ideas. Usually it's one or the other."

The corner's of Tank's mouth twitched upward. "The truck is fine," he said. "But Ranger doesn't want you in it until it's been checked out."

I nodded. Fine by me. I didn't have exploding on my list of things to do today. I ate Tank's doughnut while I filled him in on the Warner file. When I was done, I shut the file and leaned back in my chair. Tank picked up the file and flipped through it again.

"Any ideas?"

"There's no employer listed. I tried calling a couple of his past employers but the numbers are all disconnected. Then I found this."

I passed him an envelope. Inside was a check made out to Warner from B & S Slaughterhouse. It had been in the stack of mail I'd swiped from his apartment. Tank looked from the check to me and back again.

"Did you steal this?"

I gave a mini-shrug and Tank smiled.

"I think we should check it out. Maybe we can get permission to go through some files."

"That's unlikely."

"I know. But I figured it would be more polite to ask before going straight to the breaking and entering."

B & S Slaughterhouse was located on the outskirts of Trenton in an area ripe with industrialized decay. It sat between a used car lot and a mom-and-pop steakhouse which advertised Fresh Meat Daily. Neither appeared to be thriving, or even open, for that matter.

Tank pulled into a space marked Visitors Only, and we walked the short distance to a pair of glass double-doors. The front office was detached from the rest of the facility, yet still smelled faintly of manure and strawberry air freshener. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from gagging. The reception area was small and sterile. A row of chairs lined the far wall opposite a long Formica-and-cherry counter. A squat red-head sat behind the counter. Her nameplate identified her as Kathy Babb, Office Manager. She looked up from a stack of files as Tank and I walked in.

"Can I help you?"

I introduced myself, and inquired about Warner.

Kathy shot an uncomfortable glance from me to Tank and back again. "Just a moment," she said. Then she disappeared through a door behind the counter.

I slouched against the counter and yawned so wide my eyes got watery. When I had regained my composure, my eyes focused in on the stack of papers Kathy had been working. They appeared to be timecards. Jackpot. I stole a glance at the door, swiped the file, and shoved it inside my jacket. I stole a sideways look at Tank. He was smirking in my direction. So much for the asking.

Kathy came back into the room, followed by a man who seemed to be channeling Dick Van Dyke. He was tall, with salt-and-pepper hair and a goatee. He crossed in front of the desk and took my hand. "Bill Forbes," he said. "Please, let us speak in my office."

Tank and I followed Forbes through a narrow hallway and past a series of plain white doors. His office was third on the right. It was sparsely decorated. A few framed diplomas on the walls. A large desk with two chairs in front. And an old turntable set upon casters in the corner. He motioned us into the office and took a seat behind his desk. I sat down in one of the chairs. Tank stood behind me.

"How can I help you?" he wanted to know.

"One of your employees has gone missing. Grayson Warner. We would like to know where to find him."

Forbes gave me a palms-up. "I haven't the slightest," he said. "I only work part-time out of this office. I inherited this company from my father. He wanted to keep it in the family and I don't have the heart to sell out my half. My partner, Jimmy Springs, does most of the handling. I come in at crunch time to sign a few papers. That's all. Jimmy's the one you'll want to talk to."

I nodded. "Any way I can get in touch with him?"

"I'm afraid not." Forbes shook his head. "He's in Chicago for the holidays. He has family there."

"Is your office normally open on Sundays?"

"No." Forbes smoothed his tie. "We're getting ready for inventory. With Jimmy away, it's taking longer than expected."

I stood and thanked Forbes for his time, and slipped him my business card. He tucked the card into the breast pocket of his jacket and agreed to call me if he heard anything from Warner. Then he escorted Tank and me back into the reception area. I got to the door and stopped.

"Do you mind if I use your restroom?" I asked, putting the back of my hand to my mouth.

Forbes shook his head and opened the door behind the counter, and motioned me through it. "Go to the end of the hall, and turn left. It's the third door on the right."

I followed his instructions and ended up in a small lavatory done up in green and mauve. I held myself over the toilet until my nausea subsided and then splashed my face with water. I stepped back into the hallway, and something shiny caught my eye. I walked down the hall and picked up a small silver pendant in the shape of an E. I dropped it in my pocket and looked around.

I was directly in front of a tall, metal door. There was a small window at the top. I stood on tippy-toes and peered in. The room was dark and empty, except for a few boxes. Probably it wouldn't hurt to take a look around, I decided. I tried the knob and the door creaked open.

The air was musty inside. Stale and damp. I shut the door behind me and looked around. That's when I realized I was in one of those walk-in freezers, except it didn't feel cold. I pulled the lid off the boxes and sifted through them quickly. Mostly they were filled with old papers. Work orders and receipts. I let out a dejected sigh and got back on my feet. I don't know what I had been expecting. Maybe some old employee files or a head to match the hand found in my freezer. Anything to get a lead on where Warner could be hiding out.

I walked back to the door and realized there was no knob. Don't panic, I told myself. There has to be a way out. I searched my brain and came up empty. Then I remembered back to my brief stint at Cluck in a Bucket. The freezer there had been a lot smaller, but essentially the same. I opened the panel to my left and looked at the buttons. One of them, I hoped, was an alarm. All I had to do was press it and a bell would sound. Then someone would let me out. Good plan. I chose a button at random, closed my eyes, and pressed it in. The room growled, and a hiss of cold air started pouring in.

I pressed every button I could find in a blind panic, but nothing happened. I checked my cell phone. No service. "Shit!"

I began beating on the door and calling for help. Probably it was useless. The room was sealed tight, soundproof. Within a few minutes, the temperature had dropped to an uncomfortable degree and I could see my breath fog in front of me as I screamed for help.

There was a scraping sound and the door opened into me. Behind it stood Bill Forbes. He stared at me for a moment and then pressed one of the buttons on the side panel. The hissing stopped.

"I got lost." Forbes nodded, but I could tell he didn't buy it.

Tank was still waiting in front of the counter in the reception area. He threw me a questioning look, and I shook my head.

We climbed back into the SUV and I used Tank's cell phone to check in with the vet. Then I called Morelli to leave an update and was sent straight to voicemail. Bob wasn't out of the woods yet, but he was showing signs of improvement. So far, so good. Tank secured his cell phone at his hip and merged into traffic, and I spent the next half-hour trying in vain to keep from nodding off. It was one thing to zonk out in front of Ranger, but another one completely to do so in front of Tank. Ranger knew for a fact I was a mess-up; I think maybe he even appreciated it a little bit. Tank only suspected I was a mess-up, and I was determined to keep him in the dark on that for as long as possible.

The SUV pulled to a stop in front of The Bride Shoppe and idled. I threw everything into my messenger bag and got out. Tank gave a nod and doubled back onto Hamilton, parking three car-lengths up from the shop, directly behind my mother's Buick LeSabre. It was just as I had suspected. Tank hadn't volunteered to assist with the take-down; he had volunteered to be my babysitter. Probably no one else had remaining sick leave. No wonder Ranger had to bring in someone from the Boston office.

I met my mother and Grandma Mazur inside the store.

"You wearing Kevlar again?" Grandma wanted to know.

"Sure," I said. Grandma Mazur was the only person in my family keen on my being a bounty hunter. She especially liked when body parts ended up in my apartment and my cars went kaboom. Since I hadn't exploded a car in a couple of months, I figured it wouldn't hurt to lie about the Kevlar.

Grandma nodded. "Thought so," she said. "You've got a little pooch around the middle. Guess you can't be too careful, in your condition."

I had barely time enough to glare before I was accosted by an over-excited Maria Raguzzi, sole proprietor of The Bride Shoppe. She pulled me aside by my elbow and said in a low tone, "Your sister told me the Big News. Don't worry about a thing."

Then she handed me a garment bag and shoved me into a dressing room. I unzipped the bag and swallowed. Inside was a dark blue dress which looked and felt like it had been made from upholstery fabric. The scotch-guarded, flame resistant kind. I stripped down to my black bikinis and matching bra, and stepped in through the top. The dress was sleeveless, strapless, and thankless. It had a fitted bodice and a huge pool of a skirt. I pulled the top up over my boobs and checked myself out in the mirror. Stephanie Plum, human Smurf. I rolled my eyes and reached around for the zipper. It came up just past the small of my back and stopped. I sucked in some air and tried again. Nothing.

"Stephaneeeee!" came a voice from outside. It belonged to Rita Metzger, one of Valerie's bridesmaids. "Come out so we can see you."

I sucked in again and tried to force the zipper up another half-inch. "Um. Just a minute."

There was a knock at the door. "Stephanie, it's your mother. Hurry up, so we can see you in your dress."

I was going dizzy from lack of oxygen, but at least I had managed to move the zipper up a few more centimeters. I figured as long as I got into the dress, I could worry about the getting out part later.

"Okay," I said, straining for air. "Just . . . give me . . . a minute. Zipper's . . . stuck."

"Well, let me in and I'll help you fix it."

"No thanks."

There was a fit of whispering on the other side. I inhaled, and the zipper slipped back down. Damn it.

I heard a key slide in the lock, and the fitting room door opened to a gaggle of velvet-clad women. My mother and grandmother were in front.

"Hey!" I screamed, pulling the dress back over my boobs. "What are you doing? I could be naked in here!"

"Turn around so I can help you with your zipper," said Mom.

"No! Get out! Shoo!"

I grappled for the fitting room door and Grandma Mazur slipped inside. She was dressed to the nines in a glitzy flapper-style number that hit her just below her knees. "Stand up straight," she said, taking hold of the zipper. "Where's the Kevlar? And what happened to your back?"

"I lied about the Kevlar," I said. "And I got stuck in a window."

Grandma Mazur tugged upward on the zipper until her arm flab started jiggling. "No kidding?"

"No kidding."

"But that about the arm in your freezer wasn't made-up, was it? Because I got an appointment at the beauty parlor at five and I'll need to know these things. Which arm was it? Is it true it was hacked off with a chainsaw? Was there lots of blood?"

My mother crossed herself and sat down on one of the poofy stools.

I sucked in my gut and held it until my sides throbbed. "It was only a hand," I said. "The left one. I don't know how it got there. And there was no blood."

"No blood?" Grandma asked, finding it hard to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

"None."

"Hmph. Helen, you try," Grandma said. "I can't get it to go up."

My mother sidled in behind me and took hold of the zipper. She braced herself and pulled with all her might. "Maybe if you hold your breath," my mother said. I sucked my stomach in as tight as I could, and waited. "It's no use. Someone get Maria. We're going to have to try something else."

The other girls gave me sympathizing looks and shot each other nervous glances. I felt my cheeks grow warm with embarrassment.

Maria shuffled in with her yellow measuring tape dangling from her neck and a Velcro pin-cushion fastened to her wrist. She took one look at me in the dress and shook her head.

"I was afraid of this," she said. "But don't worry. We have something from our early maternity line that's very much like this dress. I took the liberty of ordering one when Valerie told me the Big News."

My vision got dotty and I had to cling to the wall to keep from crashing to the floor. "I'm. Not. Pregnant," I said through clinched teeth.

Grandma Mazur leaned forward and whispered, "She's in denial. It's the hormones."

My eyes grew so large they felt like they were shaking. I shoved everyone out of the fitting room and got dressed in my T-shirt and cargo pants, and tore out of the fitting room, leaving the dress in a pile on the floor. I slammed the door to Tank's SUV and said, "Floor it."


	8. Chapter 8

Ranger was in the shower when I let myself into his apartment. There were parts of me that wanted to join him. Lucky for me, there were other parts that really wanted a peanut butter sandwich. I took a moment to consider my options and the peanut butter parts won by a landslide.

I was still in the kitchen when Ranger stepped out of his bedroom. He was dressed in a pair of sweatpants, his body still damp from the shower. I choked on a piece of sandwich and knocked over my beer, flooding Warner's file.

"Sonovabitch," I said, mopping up the mess with a wad of paper towels.

Ranger crossed the room and looked down at the soggy papers and before I could help myself, I leaned forward and inhaled his scent.

"Babe," he said. Then he pulled me toward him and kissed me until I thought my knees would buckle. My hands grasped for T-shirt but came up empty. Instead, they found themselves mapping out his chest, taking in every well-defined muscle as they made their journey south. I skirted my fingers around the waistband of his sweats and then pulled away. Ranger stared at me, his eyes completely dilated.

"What are you doing?" asked a voice in my head. It was the same voice that told me to look both ways before I crossed the street or to not super-size my value meal at McDonalds. Most of the time I told the voice to take a hike, but this time it decided to stick around.

"I can't do this," I said.

Ranger's eyes flashed. "Don't worry," he said. "I'll talk you through it."

Then he grazed his lips against my neck. I closed my eyes and melted into him for a moment. Then the voice came back. "Bad idea," it said.

I shrugged out of Ranger's grasp and walked into the kitchen, putting some distance between us. "I can't do this," I said to Ranger. He leaned on the counter, palms down. "Where is this going?"

"Babe."

"I'm serious. Where can this . . . this thing" I made a hand gesture between Ranger and me "possibly go? What, we're just going to sleep together until one day you decide it's been fun while it lasted, and take off for God knows where for the next four months?"

Ranger's eyes locked onto mine. "It's possible."

And then there was Morelli. Despite whatever animosity might be going on between us on the outside, I still loved him in my own way. And I had a strong suspicion that he still loved me, too. Except that didn't seem to be enough anymore.

I sighed and leaned back against the refrigerator. Thinking of Morelli got me sad, and being sad made me feel vulnerable. Not a welcome feeling when Ranger was around. An uncomfortable silence lapsed between Ranger and me. Then I pushed myself away from the fridge, collected the files on the counter and shoved them in my bag.

"I'm supposed to meet Tank and Butch in the control room."

"Be careful," Ranger said.

I nodded and let myself out of the apartment.

Tank and Butch were waiting for me at my cubby. I sidled past them, and sunk into the black leather chair. A new cell phone was on my desk. I tucked it into my pocket and dropped the file on the desk. It was still soggy and smelled strongly of hops. Butch gave me a quizzical look.

"I had an accident," I said to him.

Butch shrugged in a whatever-you-say kind-of way. "You got a plan?"

"Of course," I said. Tank and Butch waited, and I sighed. "Okay, not really. But take a look at this."

I passed the timesheets I'd swiped from B & S over to Tank.

"There's no Grayson Warner listed. I've double-checked."

"Maybe he's a contract worker," Butch offered.

"Maybe. I've gone through his bank statements. No bad checks. And he's been making deposits every two weeks, like clockwork."

"How many months did you go back?" Tank asked.

"Just three. I took what I found laying around."

Tank nodded. "We can get a twelve month history on the account," he said. Then he took down the routing and account numbers and made a couple phone calls. When he was done, he turned back to me. "Do you have any other leads?"

I thought about it and took a mental inventory. I'd checked out his apartment and potential employer already. Both of those had been dead ends. There had been a few contact numbers listed on his bond application, but those had all been disconnected. Right then, all I knew about Grayson Warner was that he was still in town and he was stalking me. So I guess I was doing something right.

"No," I said. "I've got nothing. I'm out of ideas."

"Have you talked to his landlord?"

I shook my head, no. "Not yet."

Tank dipped his chin a fraction of an inch. "Let's check it out," he said. "Anything else?"

"I'm starving. What are the chances we can stop by McDonald's on the way?"

The apartments on Tioga Street had been traced back to Blue Moon Properties, a real estate agency just outside of center city. We pulled into the lot outside a small square brick building and Tank cut the engine. All the windows were shaded and darkened. A large CLOSED sign was placed in the window above the mail slot. I forced the last French fry into my mouth and wiped the grease on my pants leg. Then I reached for the door handle.

"Sorry, Bombshell," he said, "but you're staying. I'm on strict orders not to let you get dead."

He pressed a button and the locks slid into place. I tried the handle. The door wouldn't open.

"No way," I said. "I don't know what Ranger told you, but this is still my case. I'm going in there."

Tank and I locked eyes for a moment. Then he sighed and asked, "You got a gun?" I rummaged around in my bag and pulled out my Sig. "Loaded?"

Good question. "Let's hope we don't have to find out," I said.

"Nice try." Tank and Butch angled out of the SUV. "And don't bother trying to follow. I've activated the child-proof locks, and this Explorer is equipped with a motion-sensitive alarm system. You try anything, I'll know about it. And I'll tell Ranger."

Tank shut the door and pressed a button on his key fob. There was a loud click as the doors locked, followed by two short beeps from the alarm system.

"Jerk!" I yelled, pounding on the window at Tank's retreating back. "Creep! And I'm taking back your Christmas present!"

I felt a tingling sensation at my hip and realized my cell phone was vibrating.

"Where are you?" Morelli asked. "And why the hell haven't you been answering your cell phone?"

"I'm in a car," I said, "and I haven't been answering my cell phone because it was broken."

Morelli gave an exasperated sigh. "I'll be tied up here for a few days. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I want you to stay with Ranger until I get back. Do you understand?"

"Not really."

Morelli said something in Italian which I was sure would have made his mother slap him upside the head, had she heard it.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"I just got a call from one of the guys in homicide. We have a positive ID on the hand in your freezer. Apparently it's been on ice for a while. Erika Bartlett, reported missing eighteen months ago. That name sound familiar?"

"No. Should it?"

"There was some pretty heavy press coverage at the time of her disappearance. A few private companies signed on to help with the search."

Mental head slap. "Rangeman."

"For starters."

A large blue Nissan Xterra passed by the SUV, blinding me with its high-beams. It slowed as it passed the Explorer, but had rounded the corner by the time I had it pegged in the rearview. Morelli started talking again. I told myself I should probably be listening, but alarms were going off in my brain. I crawled over the gearshift and into the driver's seat and adjusted the mirrors so I had a better view. I made a few noncommittal sounds into the phone and kept my eyes peeled for anything strange. I didn't have to wait long. Within seconds, the Xterra bolted down the street, the lights cut. It was dark out, but I was able to see the driver as he passed under a streetlight. Too bad he was wearing a ski mask. Then he pulled out a gun and pointed it at me.

I dropped the cell phone and flattened myself against the floorboard. He fired five shots, one right after the other. Glass flew everywhere, shards of it stinging my hands as I buried my head into the passenger seat. When it was over, the only sound louder than the ringing in my head was that of the car alarm.

The door to the Explorer wrenched open, and I felt someone scoop me out of the SUV with one arm. It was Tank. He stood me up against the rear hatch and brushed some glass out of my hair. He had the same tight-lipped look that Ranger always got when I was shot at.

"You okay? You're bleeding."

I touched a hand to my left temple and brought it back sticky with blood. I nodded shakily. "Yeah. But can you do something about that alarm?"

Tank pressed a button on his key fob and the blaring stopped. He guided me around to the other side of the Explorer. Butch held the rear passenger-side door open and I climbed in. Then he flipped open his cell, and auto-dialed Ranger.

A few minutes later, The Turbo rolled to a stop beside the Explorer. The passenger door opened and Tank shoved me inside. He dropped my bag and cell phone onto my lap, nodded once to Ranger, and shut the door. We rode in silence to the office and took the elevator to seven. Ranger put a hand to my back and steered me into his dressing room. Then he helped me out of my coat and brushed my hair away from my face, and tilted my chin to the right. He ran a fingertip gently over my temple, and I winced.

"Ow," I said. "Bad?"

Ranger shook his head, no. "Just a scratch. Here," he handed me a stack of towels, "I'll let you get cleaned up."

I stepped out of the shower squeaky clean and bundled myself up in Ranger's bathrobe. He was waiting for me in the living room. The tips of his mouth turned up slightly when he saw me. He picked up a mug of steaming liquid and handed it to me. Hot chocolate. I took a sip and took a seat on the couch while Ranger settled himself on the edge of the coffee table.

"Want to tell me what happened?"

"Want to tell me about Erika Bartlett?"

Ranger looked almost amused. "You first."

I sighed and pulled my feet under the bathrobe.

"We went to talk to Warner's landlord. Except when we got there, Tank wouldn't let me go inside. He locked me in the Explorer. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Ranger smirked. "No," he lied. "But remind me to give Tank a raise."

I rolled my eyes and continued. "Anyway, I was on the phone with Morelli-" I stopped and did a full-on head-slap. I had forgotten to call Joe. "Oh, shit."

"Babe, Morelli called my cell after Tank checked in. I told him you were okay."

I rested my head on my palm, feeling completely guilty. Then I took another sip of hot chocolate and felt a little bit better.

"I didn't see much," I said. "It was dark, and he wore a mask."

"What about the car?"

"Nissan Xterra. A blue one. Royal Blue."

"Get the license plate number?"

I shook my head. "No. But I don't think we'll have a problem finding it. Definitely it was a custom paint job. That color blue doesn't come standard."

Ranger nodded.

"Your turn," I said to Ranger.

"Rangeman did some pro-bono work on the disappearance of Erika Bartlett last year. Mostly it was handled by outside contractors. I'll have the file on your desk tomorrow morning. In the meantime, we're making Warner a number-one priority. Which means you'll have a lot more help from now on."

"Right," I said with an eyeroll. "You give me any more 'help' and you'd might as well lock me up in that cabin in the woods."

"That's still an option."

I glared at Ranger. I was seething on the outside. But on the inside, I was oddly comforted by the gesture. Go figure.

"You gave me a week," I reminded him.

"Your gun wasn't loaded, Babe. That negates our agreement."

Ranger leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead. I tried to shrug away, but Ranger held my arms in a vise-like grip and kissed me again, this time on the mouth. I stopped struggling about two seconds into it and kissed him back. We pulled apart, and I said breathlessly, "I'm still mad at you."

"You'll get over it."

Ranger let go and moved into the bedroom suite. I leaned against the door frame and watched him sort through his gun drawer.

"I'm going out. Hal, Ram, and Woody are on the night shift. Let them know if you need anything." He checked out his gun and attached it to his belt. Then he turned to me. "If I asked you to stay in tonight, would it do any good?"

"No."

"Then I'll be sure to equip the men with tasers." Ranger smiled like he was kidding, but I knew he probably wasn't. He stuck his hand inside the robe and kissed me again. It was short. No tongue. "Don't wait up."

Then he plucked his keys from the silver tray on the sideboard, and closed the door behind him.


	9. Chapter 9

I was curled up on the couch still wrapped snugly in Ranger's bathrobe when my cell phone rang.

"Stephanie, thank God." It was Mary Lou. "Where have you been? I've been trying to call you all day."

"Sorry. Cell phone malfunction."

"Blown up?"

Honestly. "No, just broken. But I got a new one. What's up?"

"My blood pressure, that's what." Mary Lou dissolved into a fit of sobs, which were soon drowned out by a loud crunching sound. By the tone and pitch of the crunching, I guessed she had hit the Cheez Doodle phase, a veritable Burg code red. "I'm pregnant and I'm tired. I used to wake up every day thinking I was Christie Brinkley. But not anymore. Now I'm Roseanne." Crunch, crunch, crunch.

"Don't say that," I cooed. "You like your life. You like being a mom."

"I do. I really do. But I'm tired, Steph. I've been changing diapers for five years. Five. Count them. And I was really looking forward to a break. I mean, Kenny is this close to kindergarten, and I've almost got Mikey potty trained. Now I feel like my parole finally came up and instead of a reprieve, I got an extended sentence." Mary Lou hiccupped away a few more tears, and crunched another handful of Cheez Doodles. "I need to get out of here. Can I come over?"

"I'm kind of not allowed at my apartment right now," I told her. Then I followed it up with the hand-in-the-freezer story.

"Whoa," Mary Lou said. She sounded more awestruck than horrified. "Where are you staying? You're not at your parents'. And you're not at Morelli's. And you're not living in your truck, because I hear Survivor in the background. Omigod! You're staying with him, aren't you?"

By the way she said it, you would think the him in question was Johnny Depp instead of Ranger.

"Only for a few days. And it's not what you think."

"Omigod! You're doing him!" Jesus. "You are, aren't you? I can tell by the tone in your voice. It's the same one you had when Morelli plucked you behind the éclair case."

My heart gave an involuntary flutter at the mention of the M word. I choked it down and hoped Mary Lou hadn't noticed.

"So, tell me. How was it? I want details."

I went quiet for a moment. Probably Ranger wouldn't like it if I told. But then, there were things he did that I didn't like. Giving my co-workers the authority to stun-gun me was one of them. "I can't talk here," I said. "Meet me outside the building in half an hour."

I disconnected and got dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweater. Then I slicked on some lip gloss and a couple coats of mascara, and did a half-assed job at the hair thing. I had my hand on the doorknob when I remembered I was under house arrest. Damn it.

I paced around the foyer while I went over my options. The moment I stepped outside the door, I would be on one of the screens in the control room, which meant Ram would be waiting for me when I got off the elevator, taser in tow. Think, I told myself. I needed something to cause a distraction. Or something to block the feed.

Mental head slap. Of course. I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of it sooner. When I started working for Rangeman, I had been issued a key fob similar to Ranger's. I suddenly wondered how similar. I picked up my key fob and looked it over. It was small, black, rounded at the top. There were two black buttons in the middle: one to access the garage, and the other to access Ranger's apartment. There was a tiny red button at the top. I'd never used that one. That had to be it.

I opened the door just enough to align the key fob with the camera. Then I pressed the button and waited. Nothing happened. Huh, I thought. I pressed the button again and held it in for a few seconds. Still nothing. I tried it a few more times and jumped when the phone rang.

I dropped my keys on the silver plate by the sideboard, shut the door, and moved into the kitchen. I reached for the phone and stopped myself. This was Ranger's apartment. His personal space. Probably he got personal calls here. What if I answered and it was his mother? I bit my lip and waited for the phone to stop ringing. Then I took a deep breath and answered when it didn't.

"You're killing us down here." It was Hal. "Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Stop playing with your panic button."

So that's what the red button does. Hal disconnected and I called Mary Lou on her cell phone.

"Remember when we were seventeen and I wanted to go to the Springsteen concert in Newark?"

"Let me guess. You're locked in your room, with the windows nailed shut."

"Something like that."

"How long do you need?"

"I don't know. Just keep circling."

I closed my cell phone and paced back and forth for a while. Then I picked up the phone and dialed five. Hal answered.

"I need to talk to Butch. Is he there?"

"He came in with Tank about an hour ago. Probably he's in his room. Try extension forty-eight."

I thanked Hal and hung up. The fourth floor of the Rangeman building was comprised of several studio apartments reserved for Rangeman employees. I'd stayed in one of them a few months ago while hiding out from a gang hit man and had found them lacking only one thing. Ranger. I somehow doubted Butch would have that problem.

Butch answered on the second ring.

"It's Stephanie." Butch sucked in some air. I wasn't sure what Butch had heard about me, and whether or not he had believed any of it. He was real quiet for a minute. I could only assume he'd heard a lot and that he'd believed it all. Crap. That would make things more difficult, but not impossible. "I have a teensy problem," I said, "and I was hoping you could help me out."

"Go on."

"Well, I was hoping to go for a run before I turn in. Except I can't remember how to block the feed on the security cameras in the gym. Ranger had showed me this thing with my key fob, but it doesn't seem to be working."

"You got it with you? What's it look like?"

"Small. Black. Red button on the top."

"Look to the right. There should be a small button about the size of a pin-head. It will be slightly recessed. Press it once to block the feed, twice to reset. Got it?"

"Got it."

"And remember to reset the system when you're done."

"No problemo."

There was a pause, then Butch asked, "About the Explorer. That sort of thing happen often?"

"You mean do cars I'm in routinely get shot at? No." Butch let out a relieved sigh. "Usually they just blow up."

I secured my cell phone to the waistband of my pants and swung my bag over my shoulder. I opened the door just an inch and paused. I felt kind-of guilty for skipping out, so I pulled a business card out of my bag and left a note on the back of it. RANGER, it read. I placed it on the silver plate on the sideboard and stuck my head out the door. Then I pressed the button like Butch had instructed. The light on the camera went to solid red.

I stepped into the elevator, careful to block the feed on that camera, too. The doors opened to the underground lot and I half-expected to see Tank waiting on me, armed to the teeth. When I saw no one, I felt a mixture of elation and panic. That had been easy. Too easy. Either I was getting really good at this bounty-hunter thing, or something was up. My bet was on the latter.

I spotted Mary Lou at the curb, buzzed open the gate, and angled into her tan Honda Pilot. Mary Lou pulled out with a squeal. She made a few sudden turns, crossed onto Hamilton, then checked her rearview mirror and said to me, "Do you think we lost them?"

"Yeah," I said. "Good work."

Truth was, I didn't think we were being followed. For one thing, there were no black cars on the road. For another, no one short of Grandma Mazur would have been able to lose Mary Lou. She had a giant Winnie the Pooh head suction-cupped to the rear driver's side window. She made a left onto Roebling and pulled into the lot at Rossini's.

"What happened to the truck?" Mary Lou wanted to know as we filed out of the SUV.

"I'm having it detailed." And checked for gratuitous amounts of C4.

We got a table near the front and ordered from the menu. I got the fettuccini and Mary Lou got the manicotti. I unclipped my cell phone and placed it on the table and sipped a glass of red wine while we waited. The breadsticks arrived a couple minutes later. Mary Lou seized one and tore it in half.

"Okay," she said. "Spill. What's going on between you and that Ranger guy?"

I shrugged and took another sip of wine. There was a warm happy feeling spreading all the way to my toes. "Nothing. We just work together."

"Mm hmm." Mary Lou took a bite and chewed. "Fine. Don't tell me. But don't think for a minute that I believe you."

I gulped some more wine. My cheeks felt flushed and my eyelids heavy. Another half of a glass and I would tell Mary Lou anything she wanted to know. She had me, hook, line, and sinker. And she knew it. Mary Lou leaned across the table and stared at me, her eyes wide. "So?"

"Okay, we did it," I said.

"Omigod. I knew it. How was it?"

The waiter brought our food. I smoothed my napkin onto my lap and forked a piece of sausage to my mouth. "It was okay," I said.

Mary Lou's face fell. "Okay? Did he...I mean, did you...He wasn't, you know, was he?" She held up half a breadstick and gave her eyebrows a double-shrug.

I let out a snort of laughter. "No, he wasn't..." I gestured to the breadstick. Then I said, "It was good. It was nice." Great. Excellent. Mind-blowing. All of the above, and then some.

"But..."

I shrugged. "It's complicated," I said through a mouth-full of fettuccini. "He's Batman! He lives in a Bat Cave and drives a Batmobile. He always skips dessert, and he runs, like, eight miles before breakfast. I never skip dessert and I don't run unless I have to. And he's not big on the over-sharing. Most of the time, I don't even know what he's thinking. And on the rare times when I do, it's only because he has his hand down my pants." I took another sip of wine and then speared a chunk of sausage. "Don't get me wrong, the sex is good. Really, really good. It's just that maybe I'm not cut out for this no-strings-attached stuff. Maybe I need more than fun."

Mary Lou stared at me for a moment, looking pained. Probably I'd just destroyed her fantasy. Oh, well. I'd destroyed mine, too.

"Was it better than Batman?" she wanted to know.

"Which one?"

Mary Lou chewed on a piece of manicotti and thought for a moment. "Keaton."

I rolled my eyes. "Obviously."

"Okay. Kilmer?" I nodded. "Clooney?"

"Better than Kilmer. He ties with Clooney."

Mary Lou nodded. It would take a lot to trump Clooney. "What about Bond?"

We both agreed that Ranger was better than all of the Bonds. Except for maybe Timothy Dalton.

"What about Kenny Zale?"

I downed the last of my wine glass and shook my head. "I never did it with Kenny Zale."

"You didn't?"

"No."

"Because that's what he told Lenny. He said you two hooked up at Sue Ann Grebeck's sweet sixteen party and did it on her parents' bed."

"What?" I yelled, louder than I had intended. Several heads turned in our direction. "That sonovabitch. I'll kill him. Where's my gun?" I brought my bag to my lap and started digging through it. I pulled my Sig from the bottom and slammed it on the table. Then I dug around for the mag and some bullets.

"Don't bother," said Mary Lou. "I think someone already beat you to it."

"Oh," I said, dropping my gun back into my bag. That was good. I really didn't like shooting people unless I had to. I forced down another bite of pasta and pushed the plate away. Then I slouched down so my pants would stop cutting into my skin. I'd probably gained ten pounds from the sauce alone. Not good since I was already bursting at the seams.

Mary Lou finished off her manicotti and shook her head. She dabbed at the corners of her mouth with one of the linen napkins, and said, "I can't believe you're doing Batman. I love your life."

"Yeah, but you have bigger boobs. Way bigger."

"They're sagging. And I have stretch marks. Three kids' worth."

"You're married to someone who someone who would walk over hot coals just to make you happy." As long as the coals weren't too hot. But I guess it's the thought that counts.

"You're doing Batman!"

The waiter came by and took our checks. I sighed and gulped down another half-glass of wine.

"So that's it, then?" Mary Lou asked. "With you and Morelli?"

I shook my head. I didn't know the answer to that. Morelli and I broke up and got back together on a monthly-sometimes weekly-basis. We'd done the on-and-off thing for three years. But this time felt different. Not quite the Big It, the final end of the road It, but not the rest-stop It to which we had become accustomed, either. Part of that was because of Morelli. He had a new-millennium idea of how a woman should act in the bedroom, and a fifties idea of how a woman should act in the kitchen. I was okay with the first part. The second part gave me hives. I didn't want to be a Burg wife. I had a hard enough time taking care of my hamster, let alone a handful of little Morellis.

Then there was the thing with Ranger, whatever it was. I knew there was some love and there was definitely some lust, but he wasn't marriage material, and I didn't want to spend my life worrying about whether or not I was going to wake up alone one day.

But the real problem wasn't Joe. And it wasn't Ranger. It was me, and the simple fact that I didn't know what I wanted. Or whom.

A sick feeling slid through my stomach. "Yeah," I said. "I think so."

There was a somber sort-of silence around our table. My cell phone buzzed, interrupting my thoughts. I checked the ID. It was Ranger. Shit. I made a face, and answered with a Yo.

"Smart ass."

"You got the note. Back already?"

"Hal called me when the cameras started shorting out. I came back to check on you and thought I'd stick around for the rest of the show." Pause. "Better than Keaton, but not Clooney?"

Fuck!

My face went slack and I felt the color drain from my face. Ranger let out a bark of laughter. Then he said, "Say goodnight to Mary Lou. I'll pick you up in ten."

Ranger pulled up in the Turbo and I angled in from the curb. Mary Lou stole a glance inside and then waved goodbye and walked back to her Honda. I shut the door and Ranger merged into traffic. He was being his usual laconic self. I couldn't tell if he was angry or amused. Probably he was a mixture of both. I saw him ogling my boobs at a stoplight and decided maybe he was something else altogether.

"How much did you hear?" Ranger's eyebrows jumped a fraction of an inch and his mouth curved. "And Ram? Hal? Woody?"

"Will pretend they heard nothing if they know what's good for them."

My face grew red-hot with embarrassment and I wondered if Ranger felt the same. After all, I had just compared him to George Clooney. And he had lost.

"It was the gadgets!" I said aloud. "Clooney had more gadgets! And since when do you have me bugged? Ever hear of privacy?"

Ranger eased to a stop at another traffic light and slid his glance my way. "Babe, all company-issued cell phones come equipped with satellite tracking and audio surveillance. Usually they're turned off, unless something is amiss. Once Ram realized you were gone, he activated both until we could get the control room back up and running."

"Are you mad?"

Ranger shook his head. "No. I knew you would figure it out sooner or later. Actually, I thought it would be sooner. But now that you have, I would like to remind you that I still have a business to run, and I can't have you short-circuiting the control room every time you want to compare breadsticks with Mary Lou. Understand?" I nodded, and stared out the window. The Turbo pulled up to the curb outside the front entrance. I moved to open the door, and Ranger pulled me to him and kissed me. "It's more than fun," he said when we pulled apart. "But don't expect a blue box any time soon."

"Are you coming up?"

Ranger shook his head. "No. I have to work tonight."

He kissed me again and let go. I staggered out of the Turbo and passed through the double glass doors, and took the elevator to the apartment on the seventh floor.


	10. Chapter 10

I woke up the next morning with a headache and my tongue pasted to the roof of my mouth. I struggled to stand, wobbled on my feet, and crashed back down onto the bed. My stomach was churning in a way that was becoming all too familiar. I opened my eyes and looked down. I couldn't see my toes for the bulge around my middle. That's it, I told myself. No more binging. No more French fries, peanut butter, or caramel lattes until the weight comes off. And no more sugar. I knew very well what would happen with the last one, but I figured if I had to exercise, it had might as well be something I enjoyed.

I did the shower and shaving things, brushed my teeth, and did a half-assed job with my hair and makeup. Then I poured myself into a pair of black jeans, a black v-neck tee, and pulled one of Ranger's black hooded sweatshirts over my head. It was unflattering. Big and bulky. At least three sizes too big, which made me feel three sizes smaller.

I was sitting at the foot of the bed, lacing my boots, when I heard Ranger's key in the lock. He dropped his keys on the silver plate in the entryway and stood watching me from the doorway. I straightened a pants leg over the top of a boot, and then stood and smiled in his direction. He returned a half-smile back. He looked a little worse for wear. His hair was undone and his hands and face were dusted with dirt. He smelled carnal. Not unpleasant, but not refined like Bulgari, either. It was a combination of earth and sweat. And blood?

My eyes locked onto a dark stain pooling just under the Rangeman logo on Ranger's right side. A fist clinched around my chest and I rushed over. I tugged upward on Ranger's T-shirt, but he caught me by the wrist. "Babe," he said.

"You're hurt. Let me see."

"It's not mine," he said with a shake of his head. The heaviness in my chest let up and relief tingled through my body. Ranger kissed my forehead. Then he moved into the bathroom and shut the door.

I washed my hands in the powder room and answered the door to Ella. She set two place settings while I tossed Rex a couple beans and half a cracker, and then she excused herself. I sat at the table and loaded a bagel with cream cheese. Then I poured a mug of coffee and took a swig. See? I told myself. That wasn't so bad. Sure, it would be better with a splash of one of those flavored creamers, and maybe a few dozen sugar cubes. But black coffee is okay, too. I took another drink and grimaced.

Ranger walked out clad in loose black jeans and a black T-shirt which he had left untucked. He ran his fingers along my neck as he passed, and seated himself at the table.

"You're home late," I said. Ranger nodded, his mouth full of bagel. "Wanna talk about it?"

He watched me for a moment, almost like he was sizing me up. Then he said, "Maybe later."

I nodded, and popped the last bite of bagel into my mouth. I glanced at the clock in the kitchen. Eight-fifty. "Gotta go," I said. "Are you going to be around for a while?"

Ranger shook his head, no, while sipping his coffee. "I have some things to take care of this morning. But I should be in my office by two."

I walked to the counter and plugged a near-empty mag into my gun before I secured it to my hip. Then I clipped my cell phone to the waistband of my jeans. "No sleep?"

"Not today."

I made a tsk-tsk sound. "That can't be healthy."

"Healthier than a doughnut," Ranger said.

Since Warner was now Rangeman's top priority, I had gotten a reprieve from my responsibilities as background-checker. This was a good thing. I also had more than my share of so-called help watching my every move in case I chose to make a run for it. This was a bad thing. Especially since I couldn't tell whether they were watching me because I had been targeted by a maniac, or because I'd been caught playing hide-the-salami with the boss. Neither one was appealing.

I spotted Tank and Butch hovering over one of the monitor banks where Vince and Manny were listening to police scanners. The room went Ranger-quiet when I approached and I willed myself to keep my composure. Tank caught my eye and gave me the patented Rangeman mini-nod, and I walked back to my cubby. I flipped open my desk drawer and dropped the gun in with two fingers. There were a couple manila folders on my desk. Warner's bank records and Erika Bartlett's file.

I opened the Bartlett file first and began sorting through. There were magazine and newspaper clippings listed in chronological order, with some bits of text highlighted or underlined. Whoever had compiled the file had been thorough, listing cross-referenced materials in the margins. I opened my drawer and pulled out a legal pad and a bottle of Advil. I washed two Advil down with a mouthful of black coffee, and then opened the legal pad to a clean page. By noon, I had three pages of drabble, a sick stomach from the coffee, and a killer headache. I had gone through half the file and so far had nothing. I pressed my palms to my eyes until I saw stars. Then I dragged myself into the staff kitchen and in search of a Tastykake. I settled for chicken salad on a bed of lettuce and a bottle of water, and carted it back to my desk. Then I picked up the phone and dialed Morelli.

"Now what?"

"I'm sorry about last night. I should've called you."

"Yeah, you should have." Morelli blew out some air. "How's Bob?"

"He's doing well. Dr. Walsh wants to do some more blood work before he's released, and he'll be on a special diet for a few months, but I think he's going to be okay."

I took a bite of salad and gagged into a napkin.

"Jesus," said Morelli, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Having lunch." I wiped my tongue with the napkin. "I can't live like this! Everything here is no fat, no carbs, no sugar. No nothing. Hey, stop laughing! It isn't funny!"

"Sorry, Cupcake," Joe said, his voice still shaking with silent laughter, "it just feels good to know that I'll always be able to satisfy you in a way Ranger never will. Later."

And he hung up.

I turned back to the Bartlett file after lunch, trying in vain to ignore the slip-n-slide feeling in my gut. After about an hour, my eyes glazed over, so I stood up to stretch my legs. I stretched my arms over my head and did a few neck rolls. I checked the clock by the phone. One-thirty. I walked onto the control room floor, toward Tank.

"Ranger in yet?" I asked.

Tank nodded, and I reciprocated with a nod of my own. Then I crossed the floor to Ranger's office. I was just about to knock on the door when it opened and I found myself face-to-face with Jeanne Ellen Burrows. She was head-to-toe in black. Black shirt. Black cargo pants. Black boots. And she was wielding a new bottle-blonde 'do. Jeanne Ellen was a bounty hunter. She worked high-stakes cases for Les Sebring at True Blue Bonds, one of Vinnie's competitors. Except unlike me, she was good at it. Ranger-good. Her cars never went boom, she never went dumpster-diving for her FTAs, and probably she never found body parts in her apartment. A while ago, we had found ourselves working the same case and she stole my car. I assumed this was the reason I felt the urge to punch her in the nose, but in all honesty, I couldn't even remember which car she had stolen, I had blown up so many since then.

I closed my mouth once the shock wore off. A devilish grin danced across her lips. She nodded behind her to Ranger, and said, "He's all yours." Then she swept past me and made her way to the elevator.

My eye twitched. "Can I shoot her?"

Ranger was leaning against his desk, his arms folded. "No. She'll shoot back. And no offense, Babe, but her aim is better."

I threw one last disgusted look at Jeanne Ellen and turned toward Ranger. Our eyes met, and he looked like he was thinking about smiling. He pulled me inside by the elbow and shut the door. Then he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me to him. "Did you need something?"

The Bulgari infiltrated my senses, and left me with brain-fog. "I can't remember," I stammered.

Ranger searched my eyes for a moment and then leaned forward and brushed his lips across mine. He pulled away and leaned back against his desk. "Jeanne Ellen did the search on Bartlett," he said. "I asked her to drop it off this morning. She does contract work for Rangeman when things are slow." Ranger paused for a second. Then he gave me the same sizing-me-up-look he'd had at breakfast. When he spoke again, his tone was somber. "An eviction went badly last night. One of my men got shot."

The blood. I swallowed, and asked who it was.

"Hector Alvirez. He worked in Security Ops."

I knew Hector. He had once installed a security system in my apartment. "Is he okay?"

Ranger was still. "No."

I sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. My throat was scratchy and my chest tingled. Ranger pulled me to him and I buried my face into his chest. There was a knock at the door. It opened and Tank's voice boomed out, "We need you in the control room."

Ranger and I pulled apart. He nodded in Tank's direction and followed him onto the floor. And I went back to my cubby and muddled through the rest of the Bartlett file.

I finished the file and moved onto the bank records. The deposits had been consistent. Every two weeks, like clockwork. The checks had all been made out to Grayson Warner on behalf of B & S Slaughterhouse. All were issued and signed by James Springs.

I nodded off sometime after four and jerked awake when I felt someone behind me. I wiped some drool off my chin, and caught a glimpse of Ranger out of the corner of my eye. He was slouched in the chair beside my desk, flashing all two-hundred watts.

"Better than Clooney?"

I tightened my ponytail and checked in the mirror for desk-face. Then I turned to him, and shrugged. "There was ice cream involved."

Ranger watched me for a moment. "What kind? I'll have Ella pick up a case tomorrow."

I burst out laughing and slumped back in my chair.

"How's it going with the Bartlett file? Find anything?"

I shook my head. "A few random ideas, but nothing solid. There's a lot of information here, but most of it is redundant. Except maybe this." I sifted through the file and pulled out a stack of about fifteen pages, paper-clipped together at the top. I handed the pages to Ranger and he began to skim through. "It's a transcript of Erika's roommate Gina's statement. She says Erika was meeting a friend at a bar outside Trenton the night she disappeared."

Ranger passed the pages back to me. "Which bar?"

"The Fuzzy Hole," I told him. "You heard of it?"

Ranger nodded. "Rough crowd," he said. "Not the kind of place you'd take a date."

"No, but maybe it's the kind of place you'd pick one up."

"Go on."

"Erika Bartlett kept a blog. Sort of an online diary. It's still up, but most of the entries are password protected." I hit a button on the keyboard and pulled up a web browser on the screen, and clicked on one of the bookmarks. "There aren't a lot of details on the public entries, but from what I've read so far, it looks like she's gone out on a lot of these dates."

Ranger moved closer, reading silently over my shoulder. He reached over and put his hand on top of mine on the mouse, and began to scroll. My nipples hardened and I felt warm in all the right places. I noticed a change in my breathing. Ranger slid his gaze in my direction, and I knew he had noticed it, too.

"So you think Erika Bartlett was a prostitute."

"I don't know. Maybe."

Ranger nodded. "It feels good."

"Yeah, it does."

I could feel Ranger's breath on my cheek. I tilted my head slightly and our eyes met, and an alarm sounded in my head. Warning, Stephanie Plum. Danger, danger! I got that fight-or-flight feeling in my gut again and chewed my bottom lip while I went through my options. Probably it was a bad idea to boink him here, I decided. Someone might see. Or worse, I could get carpet burn. I could lure him upstairs, but who's to say I wouldn't change my mind once I got there? Naked Ranger was equal parts arousing and scary.

My cell phone buzzed. Ranger handed me my phone and walked back onto the floor. I took a couple deep breaths to steady my nerves and answered.

"What's this about Joseph not coming to the wedding?" my mother yelled frantically into the phone. I had been wondering when this would happen. She had been way too calm on Thanksgiving, when Valerie and Albert announced that they had rescheduled their wedding. She hadn't crossed herself, not once. It was only a matter of time before she blew her top and started tippling from the bottle in the cabinet by the stove. "He's the best man! He can't not come to the wedding! Did you two have a fight? Is that what this is about? Well, you had better fix it by the rehearsal dinner on Saturday, or I'm cutting you off!"

"You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, no?" she said. "Watch me."

Then she hung up.

I mumbled to myself and punched in Morelli's number.

"Don't tell me," Morelli answered. "Whatever it is, I don't want to know."

He was only half-joking. Or, at least, I hoped he was.

"My mother wants to know if you'll be back in time for Valerie's wedding." There was a moment of nothing but dead air. "You will, won't you? Joe?"

"Give me a minute. I'm trying to find a reason to say yes, and I'm coming up short."

"She'll cut me off!"

"Good."

"But you're the best man!"

"Cupcake, flattering as that may be, there's nothing you can do or say to convince me to get back involved with your family. They're all nuts."

"Albert asked you, and you said yes," I reminded him. "You had an out and you didn't take it. So there."

"Albert asked me because there was no one else to ask. And I said yes based on a set of circumstances which no longer exist."

"Such as?"

"Getting to see you naked afterwards." Morelli paused. "Unless that's still an option."

Another half-joke. I think.

"Forget it," I said.

Morelli let out an exasperated sigh. "Fine. I'm in. But keep your grandmother away from me."

"Same to you," I said, and we both disconnected. Then I called my mother and gave her the good news. She seemed much more calm than before. I figured I had a bottle of Jack Daniels to thank for that.

I hung up with my mother and checked my email. There was a carbon copy from Ranger addressed to me and a guy named Leo. A request for the password-protected entries to be sent to me. Thank you, Ranger. I logged off all the search programs and shut down my computer. Then I stuffed my gun into my bag and moved across the control room floor. I poked my head inside Ranger's office and he motioned me inside, cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder while he shuffled around some papers on his desk. He made a few brief comments in Spanish and replaced the receiver. He locked a desk drawer, grabbed his windbreaker, and turned to me.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"Starving."

Ranger zipped his windbreaker halfway and dropped his keys in his pocket. "What did you have in mind?"

"There's a little bar on the outskirts of Trenton," I said. "I hear it's nice this time of year. And they serve those onion blossom things. I always wanted to try one of those."

"And maybe get a lead on your FTA while you're at it?"

"Yep. That too."

Ranger grinned. "Babe."


	11. Chapter 11

We met a couple of Ranger's men in the underground lot and piled into a black SUV with Ranger and me in the back. I recognized the man in the passenger seat as Bobby Brown. I'd worked with him once before during an eviction. The driver I had seen around the office a couple times, but I didn't know his name.

"We're an Explorer short," Ranger explained. He pulled a bullet-proof vest from the back and helped me into it, subtly copping a feel as he secured the Velcro tabs beneath my too-big sweatshirt. Then he loaded my gun and passed it back to me. "Besides, if we leave it parked out front, it won't be there when we get back."

The SUV pulled to a stop in front of the Fuzzy Hole and Ranger and I got out. It was pitch black except for the glow of a few Budweiser signs. The windows were almost opaque, tinted by a combination of dirt and cigarette smoke. The street was quiet except for the buzzing of neon lights and the occasional far-off gunshot. Ranger took me by the arm. "Stay close and try not to start anything."

I gave him what I hoped was an indignant look. "Excuse me? I do not start things." Not intentionally, anyway. Things just happen to start themselves a lot when I was around.

Ranger gave me a look and we stepped inside.

The interior of the Fuzzy Hole was just as I had pictured it, only dirtier. I waited a few seconds for my eyes to adjust and looked around. Small, round tables were littered around the room at random, and two beat-up pool tables sat in a cramped space to my right. An Exit sign hung at the rear left. Good to know. It was still relatively early, but already the bar was near full capacity. Several of the patrons stopped what they were doing and watched as Ranger and I entered. I followed him to the bar and watched him work. Ranger was fearless, aggressive, the master of the hunt. He approached the bartender with a steady gait and an impassive gaze, and put two palms down on the counter. "I'm looking for someone," he said.

The bartender had been wiping down a glass with a bar mop. He stopped and set the glass open-end-down on the counter. "You got a name?"

Ranger mini-nodded. "Grayson Warner," he said. "Blonde. Five-nine. Caucasian. Word is he's a regular here."

The bartender shrugged. "Sorry. Can't help you," he said.

Ranger stared at him for a while. Then he slid a business card across the counter with two fingers. "Let me know when you're ready to talk."

"What? That's it?" I asked as we moved through the bar.

Ranger shook his head. "He's lying. Let's split up. Ask around. Stir things up a bit. I'm betting a lot of these guys are regulars. Chances are, it will get back to Warner that his cover is blown. Maybe something will happen." That sounded like a pretty good idea to me. "And remember what I said."

I threw another annoyed look in his direction. "I do not start things!"

"Stay close."

I took the booths and bystanders at the left-hand side, working my way down from the Exit sign, while Ranger flanked the middle. After a couple minutes of blank stares and lewd suggestions, I glanced in his direction. He was talking to a group of about four men by one of the pool tables. I figured he was having better luck. At least he didn't have someone's hand on his ass, which is more than I could say for me.

"Hey, sweet thing," the man with his hand on my ass said. He had red hair, too many freckles to count, and a small gap between his teeth. He was dressed in a grimy slate blue T-shirt, faded jeans, and muddy work boots. He was totally shit-faced. His hand started crawling up my sweatshirt and I slapped it away. I asked the man about Warner and he laughed. I rolled my eyes and slipped him my business card. "Let me know if you think of anything."

The man grabbed hold of my sweatshirt and pulled me back to him. "I already thought of something," he slurred. "Why don't you show me what's under that tent?"

I lifted the sweatshirt just enough to reveal my Sig and the last few inches of Kevlar. Red loosened his grip and turned his heavy-lidded eyes toward me. "You a cop?"

"Naw, man," said a voice to my far left. The man strutted up to me, straightening his do-rag. He was tall. Black. Kate Moss-skinny. His pants were belted at least six inches below the start of his boxers and pooled into wide denim puddles at his feet. He looked strangely familiar, but I couldn't place him. "She ain't no cop. That there's that bounty-hunter bitch."

A few tables down, a dark-haired man stood up, his eyes bulging at the sight of me as he bolted for the door. He tripped over a waitress, sending bottles of beer crashing onto a table of six. There was a lot of yelling and before long, a small riot had broken out in the middle of the bar. I ducked out of the way of a flying beer bottle and took refuge under one of the rear tables. I looked around for Ranger, but couldn't see anything through all the hubbub. I waited for things to die down and then crawled out on all fours. Something caught me by my ponytail.

"You remember me, bitch?" the guy in the do-rag asked. Then he pulled out his thingy and gave it a few rubs. I made a face and gagged. Arnold "Ziggy" Boom. I had taken him in last year on a possession charge, but not before he had thrown me in the dumpster behind the Grand Hotel on Stark Street and tried to jizz in my hair. "That's right," he said. "It's payback, bitch."

He had my ponytail in his hand, tugging on it back and forth. He made a few disgusting sounds and I felt something wet at the top of my head. I cried out in protest, but it was no use. The damage had been done. Ziggy let go of my hair and grabbed me by the waist. Then he dragged me out the rear entrance, heaved me into the overflowing dumpster in the alleyway, and took off down the street.

I lay there for a moment, flat on my back while the bags of rotten food and filth beneath me settled. I had long given up wondering how this always seemed to happen and instead resigned myself to the fact that it just did. There were worse things than being tossed in a dumpster, I told myself so I wouldn't cry. Like having your head bashed in and hands chopped off, for example. I sat up and pulled myself to a standing position, and checked to make sure I hadn't lost my gun and cell phone. Then I threw my leg over the side of the dumpster and let gravity do its thing. I landed on my back on top of an old refrigerator box, and forced some air back into my lungs. The rear door screeched open and Ranger's silhouette appeared above me. He pulled me to my feet and picked a rotten banana peel off my shoulder.

"You okay?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I'm okay."

Sirens blared in the background and a couple cop cars came onto the scene. Ranger led me through the alleyway toward the front of the bar, where Ranger's men were helping detain three men from inside. Another cop car pulled up and Carl Costanza angled out. Carl was a uniformed officer with the Trenton Police Department and a staple at most of the same crime scenes as me. Many years ago, we had shared our first communion together, among other things. He took one look at me and a smile broadened across his face.

"Pay up," he said to his partner, Big Dog. Then he looked at me and said, "We had a bet on whether you would be here or not. I got real good odds, too, since nothing exploded this time. Mind filling me in?"

All eyes turned to me. I was cold, dirty, and had semen in my hair. I had been shot at, jizzed on, and almost poisoned. And it was time for my period. I clenched my jaw tight as I could and tried to swallow back the hoard of tears racing up my throat.

"Oh, crap," Costanza said. "I know that look. That's not a good look."

"My wife gets that look," Big Dog agreed. "I hate it when she gets that look. That look means only one thing."

I bit down hard on my lip, but it was no use. The tears kept welling up in my eyes. My vision got all blurry for a second, and a single tear dropped down my cheek. Then came another, and I sniffled. Crap.

Costanza shifted on his feet uncomfortably. Then he turned to Ranger. "They going downtown?"

Ranger nodded. "They were recognized as being outstanding. I'll have one of my men stop by with the paperwork and pick up the body receipts."

Costanza nodded and he and Big Dog piled the two of the three men into the back of their police cruiser. Another uniformed officer took control of the third, and Ranger guided me at arm's length back to the SUV. We rode back to the Rangeman office with all four windows down, and then Ranger and I took the elevator to his apartment. He steered me into the bathroom, turned on all the shower jets, and helped me out of my clothes. Then he loosened his own and pushed me under the water.

I wiped the water away from my face. "What are you doing?"

Ranger stepped inside and squeezed some shampoo into his palm. "Helping," he said, gently massaging it onto my scalp. "Do I want to know what's in your hair?"

"No."

Ranger grimaced. "Babe."

Ella delivered a late dinner while I changed into a pair of sweats and a clean T-shirt. I took a moment to smell my hair again and then pulled myself onto one of the stools by the bar. Ranger removed a lid from one of the food trays and my stomach growled. Grilled Tilapia in orange sauce, with a side of rice and steamed broccoli. I took a bite and sighed. It was almost enough to renounce Pino's. Almost.

"Find out anything?" I asked, forking a piece of broccoli to my mouth.

"Not a lot. A couple people remember seeing Warner around, but nothing recently."

I flaked off a piece of fish and chased it around the plate. "You still think he's in town?"

Ranger nodded, but didn't elaborate.

"You think he had something to do with the shooting?"

"I think there's a good chance. Probably seventy percent. You've got a lot of enemies, Babe."

"No kidding," I said, thinking mostly of Ziggy Boom and what he had just done to my hair. He had just wanted me humiliated. Job well done. But somewhere out there, someone wanted me dead. Probably a lot of someones. That sent chills up and down my spine, so I changed the subject. "So what happened in there, anyway?"

Ranger stared at me for a moment and his eyes danced. I had a feeling I was being entertainment again. "One of the regulars recognized you. Maurice Hinson. Skipped on a carrying charge. He thought you were there to bring him in, so he ran for it."

"Wait a second," I swallowed the last bite of fish, and replaced the cover on the tray. "He ran? From me?"

"You can be pretty scary, Babe." I pretended not to notice when Ranger's eyes darted to my hair and back.

"What about the other two?"

"Bobby recognized them. He and Link had them in custody when I went looking for you." Ranger took a drink of water. "Mind telling me how you ended up in a dumpster?"

I shrugged. "Same as always. Got tossed in."

"And the other?"

I told him about my run-in with Ziggy Boom. When I was done, Ranger's eyes were dark and narrow, and his mouth nothing more than a straight line.

"You want me to have a talk with him?" he asked.

"You mean rough him up a bit?"

"Or something."

I thought about it for a second, then said, "Not necessary. But I appreciate the offer."

We cleared the trays away from the counter and I checked in on Rex while he ran on his wheel. "Show off," I said. Then I tossed in a broccoli stem and followed Ranger into his dressing room.

I stood in the doorway and watched as he lifted his shirt over his head. He folded the shirt and tossed it in the hamper, and then went for his zipper. "Babe, you're staring."

I blushed. Ranger smiled and pulled me to him. Then he slid his hand down the front of my sweats and kissed me.

"How would you feel about another shower?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.

"That depends. Are you asking because you want to see me naked, or because I still smell like garbage?"

Ranger pulled away just enough for me to see the corners of his mouth twitch upward. "A little of both, actually."

I was sleeping when I felt Ranger stir beside me. I rolled over and opened one eye.

"Just the phone," Ranger said. "Go back to sleep."

I nodded and sunk back into my pillow. Ranger answered the phone by the bed and made a few vague comments. Then he asked the person on the line to hold, and turned back to me.

"Leo has the files from Erika Bartlett's website," he said. "You want them on your desk in the morning?"

I sat bolt upright and looked at the clock. It was just after four o'clock. "No," I said, already starting for Ranger's dressing room. "I want them now."

Ranger nodded and put the phone back to his ear. "She'll be down in ten."

I pulled on a black tee and pair of black sweatpants, not taking time to bother with underwear, tamed my hair into a ponytail, and gave my molars a quick brushing. Then I danced in front of the elevator while I waited for it to open. When it did, I jumped in and I pressed five. The file was already on my desk. I stifled a yawn and started reading.

Tank prodded me awake at eight-thirty, armed with a mug of hot coffee. "You got sugar?" he asked.

I shook my head, no, while I blew the coffee cool. "Nope. I'm off sugar."

Tank gave a strained look and then walked back onto the floor.

I gave the coffee a shot and went back to work on the file. My neck was tight and my eyes ached. I stood up, stretched, and locked my computer. I poked my head around my cubby wall and saw Ranger slouched in a chair in front of the monitor bank set aside for private security. I crossed the floor and leaned against the table.

"Is the truck ready yet?"

Ranger tore his eyes away from my chest and shook his head. "No. But you can take mine." He flipped a couple buttons on one of the panels and motioned for Manny to change screens. "Going somewhere?"

"Just out for some air. You got anything for Vinnie?"

"Check with Hal. He has the receipts from last night. You can have the checks mailed to the office."

Ranger dropped the keys to his truck into my palm and I took the elevator to the underground lot. His truck was larger than mine, a customized black Ford F-150. It was parked in a slot near the elevator between his black Mercedes and black Porsche Cayenne. The Turbo was parked on the other side of the Mercedes. I moved to the driver's side and opened the door. Then I looked around the lot. Three slots on the side wall were empty. Normally they would be filled with black SUVs for Ranger and his men. One of them had been shot up and left for dead. Probably Bobby and Link had the second. I made a mental note to look in the rearview mirror for the third.

I turned onto Haywood going west and slowed to a stop at the second traffic light. Sure enough, a black Ford Explorer merged into traffic two car lengths away. I caught a glimpse of Tank behind the wheel and waved in the rearview. The SUV followed me to Vinnie's and parked just up from Fiorello's Deli. I turned the key back and stepped out, locking the truck behind me.

"That's Ranger's truck," Lula said when I entered. She had her nose pressed up against the front window. "He with you?"

"No," I said. "The truck's on loan while I run some errands."

"Hunh. Who's that in the Explorer? That Tank? Mm, mm, mm. That man is fine."

I walked over to Connie's desk and handed her the body receipts. There were four in total. Three from last night and one I found in my coat pocket from a couple weeks ago. Connie screwed the cap back on a bottle of nail polish. She gave her fingers a few quick shakes, then picked up the receipts and placed them in her inbox. "You can mail those to Rangeman," I said. Then I waved goodbye, turned around, and made my way back to the door.

"What, you're leaving?" said Lula, still looking out the window. "You just got here. We ain't even had time for doughnuts and I gotta go get an FTA in a few minutes. You'll wanna stick around for that. I might even let you ride along. You know, for old times' sake."

I sucked in a deep breath and held it. As a file clerk, Lula was bad. As a bounty hunter, she was worse. Assisting in a takedown with Lula had disaster written all over it. I let the air out of my lungs and said, "Okay, fine. But I'm off sugar again, so no doughnuts. And I'm driving."

"Damn skippy." Lula wrapped herself in a lime green faux fur coat and topped it of with a matching hat. She pulled a file from one of the massive stacks on top of the file cabinet, and said, "Let's move."

Lula and I climbed into the cab of Ranger's truck and turned left on Hamilton. According to her file, Emjay Briggs worked part-time at a downtown sex shop called Speakeasy. It was a small square building made up mostly of windows, and shared a small six-car lot with the package store next door. I parked the truck in the slot nearest the entrance and Lula and I filed out.

The door beeped as we walked through and we were greeted half-heartedly by a tall, skinny woman behind the counter. She had smooth, reddish-brown skin and a yellow-orange 'fro.

"Hey, Emjay," said Lula. "Get ready. We gotta take you in on account of you missed your court date."

Emjay sighed. "I changed my mind," she said. "I ain't going nowhere. They ain't got nothing on me. That skinny-ass cop, he knew I was a 'ho before he even come in here. I spent most of the summer going down on his ass, 'cause his wife had a baby and wouldn't spread. And what thanks do I get? No thanks, that's what. Just a one-way ticket to the slammer. Mm-hmm."

"All you have to do is reschedule," I said, "and we'll have Vinnie bond you out again."

"For real?"

"For real."

Emjay looked at me for a moment. Then cocked an eyebrow and said, "Hey! Hey, I know you! You're that bounty hunter. The one who-"

"Burned down the funeral home," I finished. "Yeah. Except I didn't really have anything to do with that."

Emjay made a pshaw sound and flipped her hand down at the wrist. "I ain't interested in no funeral home," she said with a shake of her 'fro. "Nuh-uh. Word on the street's that you got marked by Ziggy Boom last night."

I looked over a Lula. She was staring at the ceiling, bouncing on the balls of her feet, pretending not to hear anything. Then I turned back to Emjay. "Hey, how did you hear about that?"

Emjay burst out laughing. "Girl, everybody heard 'bout that! All he's been talking 'bout is how he got his bounty hunter. Said he'd been waiting a real long time to get you wet. Said you growled like a dog in heat once he grabbed your ponytail. Now, don't take it personal or nothing," she added. Probably because I was so mad, my fist was shaking. "Hell, everybody been marked by Boom one time or another. Just that normally you get a twenty out of it."

Emjay agreed to ride down to the police station with Lula and me as soon as her shift was over. To amuse ourselves in the meantime, Lula and I perused through the aisles of crotchless and edible panties, Christmas-themed novelty sex toys, and more flavored massage oils than I thought possible. I passed a row of scary-looking devices near the back and bumped into Lula.

"What'd you get?" Lula bustled up beside me, her arms full with three flavored oils, a pair of ostrich-feather g-strings, a vibrator shaped like a candy cane, and a box of black condoms. I held out empty palms and shrugged.

"Nuh-uh," said Lula. "You gotta get something. You're off sugar now and you ain't got that hottie cop to distract you this time. Here," she handed me the candy cane, a bottle of oil, and the box of condoms. "I think you need these more than I do."

Lula and I checked out and waited in the truck for Emjay. An hour and a half later, we had gotten Emjay re-bonded and dropped her off back at the sex shop. Then Lula and I did the drive-thru thing at the McDonalds on Lincoln Avenue. I dropped Lula off in front of Vinnie's office and drove on auto-pilot back to Haywood Street. I pulled up to the gate at the Rangeman office and parked in one of Ranger's slots. The Mercedes and Cayenne were still there. The Turbo was gone. I took the elevator to five and shuffled back to my desk. Then I folded down the top of the Speakeasy bag and shoved it into a desk drawer, unlocked my computer, and went back to work.

I answered my phone to Morelli at a little after two. He wasn't using his happy voice.

"I'll kill him," he said. "But don't worry, no one will find the body."

I could only imagine that the person Morelli wanted to kill was Ranger, and that the reason for this had something to do with last night's roll in the garbage.

"I just checked my messages," he continued. "Is it true you started a bar fight?"

"No." Not directly, anyway.

"And the thing with Ziggy Boom?"

"I don't want to talk about that."

"Jesus Christ."

"It's not as bad as it sounds," I said. "Besides, I had my gun."

Tires squealed and horns honked on Morelli's end of the line. Probably I should have left that last part out. "Where are you?" I asked.

"On my way back," Morelli said. "I'm twenty minutes outside Hartford. I'll be back in Trenton by six."

I made a mental note to have Ranger step up security for the night shift and disconnected. One of Ranger's men dropped a couple file folders into my inbox. I reached for them and stopped halfway when I noticed a small brown box on my desk by my inbox.

I picked it up and looked it over. It was plain. Square. No postage, no return address. My name, printed neatly at the top, in care of Rangeman Enterprises, LLC. Probably it came by private courier. I shook it a couple times and slit the tape with the pointy edge of a car key. Then I pulled the flaps away and brushed the Styrofoam packing peanuts from the top.

Inside was a smaller rectangular box. It was wrapped in bright red paper with a silver bow. There was a card attached to it. My name was written in silver ink on the envelope. I set the card to the side and moved on to the good stuff. I slipped the bow off the box and tore into the wrapping paper. Then I lifted the lid off the box.

There was a loud bang, followed by a foggy white cloud. Then everything went black.


	12. Chapter 12

The noise startled me, causing me to jump backwards in my chair. It wasn't so much the sound of a shotgun as it was the sound of a holiday cracker, or one of those exploding snaps you throw on the ground. My first thought was that it had been a bomb. I'd opened a bomb, and now I was dead. But I knew that wasn't true for several reasons. Number one, it has been my experience that when bombs go off, people from miles away know about it. And from what I could hear on the control room floor, no one seemed to be paying much attention to the goings on of my cubby. Not the kind of reaction I would expect from Ranger's men if I had just set off an explosive. Number two, for me to be considering the possibility of a bomb, I would have to be alive. Which means there was either no bomb at all, or that it was a dud. Either way, bomb zero, Stephanie Plum one.

And then there was number three: Five seconds after I opened the box, the searing pain set in.

I cried out and slumped onto the floor. My eyes felt like they were on fire, slowly melting down my face. I used the palms of my hands to wipe the gunk from my eyes and made a futile effort to call for help. My chest was tight and my throat ached, and I was having serious mucus-control issues. I felt the shuffle of boot-clad feet rushing around me, followed by a lot of yelling. A pair of thick arms secured my arms at my waist and half-carried, half-dragged me out of my cubby, through a series of doors, and into the locker room. There was the squeak of the faucet and a rush of ice-cold water hit me in my chest. I fought to pull my hands free, but they were secured at my waist. A free hand held my head steady, and pressed my face under the water.

"Easy, Bombshell," Tank said. "Easy."

The water was a mixture of relief and agony. I forced myself to open my eyes, even though the pain came back threefold when I did. I sputtered and strained and twisted my fingers in knots.

"Try and take in some air." I gasped for air and my chest seized. I coughed and gagged, choking on water while Tank coached me. "Smaller breaths. That's it. You got it. Good."

I sucked in a few small breaths and little by little, the pain my chest subsided. When the stinging in my eyes died away, Tank released his iron grip and turned off the water. Then he lowered me to a sitting position on a bench near the sinks and held open one of my eyelids. He nodded once and lifted the other. I blinked a couple times and the world began to come back into focus. I was cold and shivering, and suddenly very aware that I wasn't wearing a bra. I pulled a towel from a stack on the counter and wrapped my arms over my chest. Tank walked over to a small closet opposite the shower stalls. He pulled out what looked a large tackle box and set it on the floor. Then he brought out a liter-bottle of clear liquid, removed the protective seal and screwed on a dispenser cap, and tilted my head back.

"Saline," he said, lifting my eyelid. "It's uncomfortable, but it shouldn't hurt." Tank flushed out my left eye and then my right one, and tossed the empty saline bottle into the trash receptacle under the sinks. He closed the tackle box and said, "Calamine lotion should help with the skin irritation. We don't have any here, but I'll ask Ella to pick some up for you. Symptoms usually don't last more than an hour, so let someone know if you start to feel worse."

"It's not that bad anymore. Thanks." Tank dipped his head a fraction of an inch. "This sort of thing happen a lot?"

"Didn't used to."

I could read the lines on that one.

I reached up and pulled a couple paper towels from the dispenser. For some reason, I still had that mucus-control issue going on. "What was that, anyway? Pepper spray? It didn't feel like pepper spray."

Tank shook his head. "Weapons-grade CN is my bet. Tear gas. Standard government issue, but you can find it in any bargain-basement defense store. It's not life-threatening, but it stings like a bitch."

"No kidding."

Tank helped me to my feet, bracing me while I regained my balance. "You should go upstairs and take a shower. Throw out those clothes. They 're contaminated. I'll check in with Ranger and let him know you're okay."

I grimaced. "I don't suppose there's any way we can sugar-coat this."

Tank was quiet for a moment. "The building was just compromised. You know of a way to sugar-coat that?"

"How about we leave him a Hallmark card. One that reads, Look on the bright side, it could have been a bomb." Tank looked as if he was almost going to smile, but caught himself. Then he escorted me back through the control room and into the elevator.

I slid the key in the lock to Ranger's apartment and pushed the door open. Once inside, I dropped his keys onto the silver dish on the sideboard and kicked off my wet shoes. I took Tank's advice and tossed out my clothes, and then climbed in the shower. I dropped one of Ranger's tees over my head and relaxed on the bed. My eyes ached in a worn-out sort of way and a dull pounding was starting in the middle of my forehead. I slid my hand under one of Ranger's pillows and hugged it to my chest. Then I closed my eyes and listened to Rex spinning on his wheel in the kitchen.

I woke up and my breath caught in my chest. Either I was having an allergic reaction or Ranger was in the room. I rolled onto my back, praying for hives. Ranger was standing at the foot of the bed, dressed in his usual bad-ass black. His arms were folded over his chest, his left eyebrow cocked, his mouth set grim. I sat up and pulled the T-shirt down to my knees.

"Uh-oh," I said. "You've got that look." Ranger questioned me with his eyes. "The one that says you're about to throw me out the window."

"Too late for that," he said with a shake of his head. "Besides, I'm all of a sudden running low on black T-shirts. I should probably be conserving what I have left."

He was joking. Probably.

"You're mad."

Ranger leaned forward against the bed. "I'm not mad."

"You look mad," I said.

A hint of a smile danced on his lips as he said, "Babe, you've never seen me mad."

Gulp.

Ranger motioned me down to the edge of the bed. His expression was pained, concerned. "What happened?" he asked.

"I thought Tank filled you in."

"He did. Now I'm asking you."

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "There was a package on my desk. It was addressed to me, so I opened it. There was a box inside. It was wrapped." Ranger motioned for me to go on. "Anyway, I unwrapped it, and lifted the top. There was a noise, like a bang. And the next thing I know..."

I trailed off at the end. Ranger watched me for a beat and then shook his head. "This should never have happened."

"I know," I sighed. "I'll be more careful from now on."

"That's not what I meant. This building is supposed to be secure. That package never should have made it to your desk." Ranger was quiet for a moment. "Walk me through this. What else was in the box?"

I sunk back onto the bed. "There was a card."

"What did it say?"

I shrugged. "Don't know. I didn't have time to open it."

Ranger nodded. "Get dressed. We're going downstairs. And, Stephanie?" I stopped halfway to Ranger's dressing room and turned to face him. "Wear a bra this time."

We stepped out of the elevator, and the control room went dead quiet. I had dressed in a pair of black cargo pants and a long-sleeved black tee, with a black nylon vest over it for warmth. The cubby had been wiped clean, my gun and cell phone stowed in the top drawer. The card was on top of my inbox. The box was gone.

I picked up the card and handed it to Ranger. "Here," I said.

He looked it over and passed it back to me. "You want to open it?"

"Not sure."

I hesitated for a moment and then took the envelope from Ranger's hands. I was shaking so badly the paper keeps slipping. Probably there wasn't anything in there but a Christmas card. And maybe some Anthrax. No, I told myself. Don't say that. I loosened the seal on the envelope and pulled out the card. I opened it up and two pictures fell onto my desk. One was of me and Lula, taken while in queue at the drive-through at the McDonald's on Lincoln. The other was a picture of a dead body, the head and hands removed. The timestamps on both were from today. I crashed onto my chair and looked at the inscription on the inside of the card. HAVE A NICE DAY!

"I shouldn't have opened that."

Ranger pushed the pictures back into the envelope and handed them to me. "You'll want to give these to Morelli."

"I will?" I handed the pictures back to Ranger.

"Yes."

"Any particular reason for that?"

Ranger looked at me for a second or two. "You're being stalked, Babe."

"So what else is new?"

"The police have another body to find. This isn't exactly the time to be withholding evidence."

I sighed and took the pictures back, and threw them into my drawer along with my gun and cell phone. "Fine," I said. "And I should let you know that Morelli called while you were out. He sounded grumpy. You'll probably want to put another man on the floor tonight."

"I don't like the sound of that."

I didn't, either. Morelli and Ranger were many things to each other. Friends wasn't one of them. Civil happened on occasion. Ranger thought Morelli was a good cop and a somewhat decent human being. Morelli thought Ranger was a nutcase who operated a little too far left of the law. They both carried guns and had tempers more volatile than nitroglycerin. Because of this I preferred keeping them at a distance from one another.

I opened my bottom drawer and pulled out my messenger bag. I shoved the phone and pictures into it, but hesitated at the gun. Ranger was watching me closely, so I threw that in, too. I checked the clock on my desk. Five-thirty. Quitting time.

"I don't suppose I could talk you into staying in the building tonight."

"No can do," I said, going through my bag to make sure I had everything, "I have plans."

Ranger folded his arms and leaned against the desk. "I could make you forget about your plans."

"I'm sure you could," I said. "But that's not a good idea. I'm supposed to be at my parents' house for dinner."

Ranger shook his head. "You're a masochist."

"Yeah," I said. "A masochist without a car. Give me a ride?"

We rode silently to the underground lot and got into the Turbo. I melted into the comfy leather seat and zoned out while he drove us into the Burg. Before too long, we were idling at the curb in front of my parents' duplex on High Street.

"Thanks for the ride." I shifted my bag onto my shoulder and reached for the door. "You're not just going to sit out here, are you?"

"That was the plan."

"Sounds like a sucky plan to me. You'll get cold. And hungry." Not to mention that the last time Ranger waited outside my parents' house, one of the neighbors had called and reported him as a terrorist. "You're welcome to come in, if you want."

Ranger's eyes darted to the living room window in front, where two Grandma Mazur-shaped eyes were watching through the blinds. He shook his head and tried hard not to grimace.

"Bad idea, Babe. Besides, I think the extra seat is already taken."

A flash of light appeared in the rearview mirror. Two headlights were approaching. They slowed and turned into the driveway behind Big Blue, and I noticed they were attached to a red Ford Expedition. The driver's side door opened, and Morelli stepped out. He threw a sour look toward the Turbo, shuffled onto the stoop, and waited by the door.

I met Morelli on the stoop.

"Jesus," he said at the sight of my face. I had checked it in the side mirror on the way. I hadn't thought it was that bad. Sure, I was still kind of squinty, and my cheeks and nose were kind of red. But it wasn't near as bad as the time Joe's Jeep exploded and my eyebrows got singed off. I opened my mouth to say something, but Joe put a finger to my lips.

"No," he said. "Don't tell me. I don't care what it is. I don't want to know."

"Actually, I think you might."

I took the envelope out of my bag and passed it to Morelli. He opened the flap and dropped the contents into his palm. He looked at the first picture and his brow furrowed. He looked at the second, and his jaw clinched.

Morelli sucked in some air and dropped the pictures back into the envelope. Then he folded it in half and shoved it in his back pocket.

"How did you get these?" he wanted to know.

"Off the record?"

Joe looked at me and his eye twitched.

"Fine." I blew out some air. "The abridged version it is. They were delivered, along with a package."

"What was in the package?"

"A bomb. Sort of. It was rigged with tear gas."

Morelli ran his hands through his hair, but didn't say anything. Then he went palms-down on the rail and nodded toward the Turbo. "Does he know about this?"

I nodded.

Morelli did some more impressive cursing.

"You're being targeted by a nutcase, and he has you starting bar fights and God knows what else." Morelli's grip on the railing tightened and he shook his head. "I really hate that guy."

"What's going on out here?" The door opened and Grandma Mazur poked her head out. She was all decked out in spikes and black vinyl. It took me a moment to take it all in. Hair spray-painted blue, teased into peaks and horns. A thick ridge of black eyeliner caked onto the tops of her wrinkled lids. Lips the color of gunmetal. She was wearing a bright red long-sleeved corset top pulled tight, and a black-and-gray tartan skirt that hit just above her knees. I stood with my mouth open until Grandma spoke again.

"Who's that in the car? That Ranger?" Grandma waved at the Porsche, her flabby upper arm jiggling in the cold night air. "He coming in?"

"No," said Morelli and I in unison. I glared at him, and he glared right back.

"Huh. Too bad," Grandma continued, "I was hoping I could touch his gun. You know, get a feel for it." God only knows which gun Grandma was referring to. "Oh, well." Grandma ushered us inside, taking Joe's coat and instinctively reaching for mine. "Stephanie, you're not wearing a coat. Why aren't you wearing a coat? And what happened to your face?"

"Tear gas," Morelli offered. Then he excused himself to make a call.

"You don't say?" asked Grandma. I shrugged. "Well, isn't that something. I never met someone who got tear-gassed before. Just wait 'til they hear this at the beauty parlor tomorrow. Except I'll leave out the part where you look like the Clamato guy. What's his name? Stewart French."

"French Stewart," I corrected. "And I would appreciate that. What's with the getup? Pretty glam for a Tuesday night."

"I'm going out," she said. "Sally's band's playing a rave tonight. I'm gonna be a groupie."

Dinner was more subdued than usual with the absence of Valerie and Albert and the kids. My mother made a vague comment about my face and excused herself for a quick tipple before bringing out the lasagna. Morelli's cell phone went off somewhere between the lasagna and the dessert. He opened it and checked the readout and then passed it to me. It was a text-message from Ranger. One word: TAG.

Morelli gave me a half-smile as he sipped his water. Then he folded his phone and clipped it to the waistband of his jeans. I excused myself from the table and made it outside just in time to see the Turbo make a left at the end of the street. In its place was one of the black Ford Explorers. I walked up to the passenger side and knocked on the glass. The window slid down. Hal and Bobby were in the front. The back was empty, except for a small arsenal of semi- and automatic weapons.

"You gonna fill me in, or do I need to call Ranger?"

Hal smiled. "I can tell you what we know. A blue Nissan Xterra was found abandoned half a mile south of the turnpike. Good chance it belongs to our boy. Ranger went to check it out."

I nodded. "Anything else?"

I knew there were probably several other things, but Hal wasn't about to divulge. He wasn't the oldest player, or the biggest or smartest, but he was smart enough to know better than to answer, and just big enough to keep me from pushing. It was getting cold, so I said goodbye and walked back to the house. Joe was waiting for me on the stoop.

"Looks like you've been left on a stoop again."

"Looks like."

Morelli relaxed against the door, hands in pockets. He peered over at the Explorer and shook his head. "The left tail light's cracked. I could pull them over on that and make an arrest for what's inside. Know why I won't?"

"You're cracked," I said. "And the reason you won't is because you know if you do, you'll spend the rest of your days on the force working traffic. Pulling over people with cracked tail lights and giving them tickets."

Morelli's eyebrows went up slightly. "Yeah, there's that. But the real reason is because it keeps you safe. Don't get me wrong. I don't like Ranger. And I sure as hell don't trust him. But he's put the fear of God into those men. I'll bet any one of them would rather chop off his own hand than tell Ranger he let you get killed." I suspected he was right about that. Morelli and I locked eyes for a moment. Then he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into his coat. "Cupcake, you're shivering."

I tried to pull away. At least, I thought about it. But it had been a long time since I'd been that close to Morelli, I'd almost forgotten what it was like. Sure, we had fooled around a bit since we broke up. That was different. That was hormones. This was comfortable and familiar. Almost cozy.

Morelli dipped forward and kissed me on the lips. It was long, but light. No tongue, but a myriad of bells went off in the pit of my stomach anyway. He pulled away a couple inches and said, "I just got a call from the station about an abandoned SUV. It's not in my jurisdiction, but I want to check it out anyway. With any luck, Ranger will have left some evidence for the rest of us. In the meantime, I want you to be safe, even if that means you're with him."

He took a deep breath and pushed a lock of hair behind my ear. "I'm not going to pretend I like this arrangement. Ranger's a man with a motive, Cupcake. Whatever you think you know about him, you're wrong." I moved to interject, but Morelli continued, unfazed. "I'm through with the threats and ultimatums. You're an adult. You can make your own decisions. I just don't want to see you get hurt." He kissed me again, harder and deeper this time. Then he released his hold on my waist and made his way to his SUV. "Tell Ranger the blue-and-whites went out five minutes ago. And ask him about Auggie, if you get a chance."

Then he cranked the engine and backed out of the drive.

I shut the door behind me and relayed Morelli's message to Ranger via text-message. I left out the part about Auggie. Something told me that whatever Auggie was, it was probably off-limits. I waited for confirmation that the message was received and then carried myself into the kitchen. My mother was bent over the sink washing dishes while my grandmother put the leftovers in tiny disposable containers and stacked them in the fridge. I grabbed a dish towel and started drying the dishes already in the drainer.

The doorbell rang at seven on the dot and Sally bustled in. Salvatore "Sally" Sweet is six and a half feet tall, with a wild mane of dark hair and red roses tattooed on both biceps. He used to work as a school bus driver, but had to give that up once the school board realized his license had expired. Now he does event planning for the Burg social elite, like Grandma Mazur. So far this year, he's planned two sweet sixteens, one big five-oh, three baby showers, nine funerals, and four weddings (two of which were Valerie's). He's also the lead singer for a band called the Lovelies, and dresses mostly in drag. Today he was clad in a classy black suit, complete with monogrammed cufflinks to match his pearl drop earrings.

"What's with the pants?" Grandma said. "I thought the skirts helped you breath down there. Nevermind. Let's go. I wanna get my funk on before my heart pill kicks in."

Sally shook his head and gestured wildly with his hands. "I have bad news. There's been a mix-up. A big fucking mix-up. I've double-booked a gala with a rave. I have no idea how it happened, either. I was just-What the hell did you do to your face?" he asked me.

"Tear gas," said Grandma. "Ain't that just the coolest thing?"

Sally nodded in agreement. "Except you kind of look like that Clamato guy. Check you out!" Sally turned back to Grandma Mazur, giving her a spin. "Fucking fantastic!"

"I wanted to try the dog collar, but it kept poking me in the chin."

"Bummer."

"Fucking A. So what's this about a gala? I could go for a gala. I'm flexible. And Stephanie can go, too. Especially if it's one of them fundraiser deals. We'll just tell them she's got some sort of Asian flu and that's why her face is all scrunched up."

"It's a fundraiser for music awareness. The Midnight Gala. I'd signed up to do it pro-bono back when I was transporting the little dudes. It's going to be huge this year."

"I saw a movie like this once," said Grandma. "It had Merryl Streep in it. You should get her to play you if they decide to make a movie. She looks sorta like a man."

Personally, I thought Howard Stern was more of a fit. But then, Grandma did have a point.

I checked in with Hal and Bobby and the three of us piled into Big Blue, with Sally at the wheel. We pulled up to the rear entrance of a ritzy hotel on the outskirts of town and parked in one of the slots marked Reserved. I climbed out of the back while Sally helped Grandma Mazur out of the front seat. She had changed into a silver sequined number with a blood red shawl. Her hair was tame and curled. Still blue, but at least she'd done away with the gunmetal-gray lipstick.

We followed Sally inside through a side door and gravitated toward the kitchen. A small sandy-haired man caught Sally by the elbow and whispered something in his ear.

"What do you mean the fucking swans are fucking sweating? And why is he here?" Sally motioned to a photographer, busy reloading his camera. "Shouldn't he be taking the fucking pictures after the guests arrive?"

Sally rushed through a set of double-doors into the reception area, with Grandma and me hot on his heels.

"Not bad," said Grandma. That was an understatement. The area was huge, done up in rich primary hues. Several long tables were along one wall, ordained with large pearl centerpieces. The floor opened up into a circular ballroom, with a well-lit spot for accompaniment in the far left corner. A large round table sat in the middle, covered in what I suspected had once been an oversized ice swan. Now it just looked like a huge block of ice.

"No fucking way! Half an hour to show and it looks like the fucking swan took a fucking piss on the fucking tablecloth! Fucking fuck. Fucking fucking fuck."

Sally had one of the caterers carry the swan away, while another smoothed on a fresh tablecloth. Sally followed the swan. I dropped Grandma Mazur off at the bar and continued to circulate the ballroom.

"Stephanie Plum?" Bill Forbes was standing by a pool of purple silk in an area designated for the band. "I thought that was you. Are you here for the gala?"

I shook my head, no. "Security sweep at the request of the event planner," I lied.

"Ah, I see." Forbes wiped his glasses down with a pressed handkerchief and tucked it neatly into his pocket. "I spoke with Jimmy today. He said something that I thought might pique your interest."

"Go on."

"I asked him about Warner. He said Warner worked in delivery. But when I ran a search, I didn't find him listed."

Imagine that.

"It would help if I could speak with him," I said to Forbes.

Forbes nodded. "I'll pass on your message. And if I think of anything else, I'll give you a call."

I waited until Forbes had shuffled back to the band section and ducked out the back before the guests began arriving. The Explorer pulled up right on cue and I hopped in the back.

"Any word on the SUV?" I asked. Bobby looked at me in the rearview, but said nothing. I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest.

Ranger was waiting on me when I opened the door to his apartment. I moved forward and noticed several small stacks of papers and file folders littered the dining room table. I perched on the edge of the table and opened one. I recognized it right away as the file on Erika Bartlett.

"I had one of the men bring the files up." Ranger brought two in two bottles of water. He passed me one and took a seat. "I want to go through these tonight. We'll be more comfortable up here if things run late. I hope you don't mind."

I shook my head and replaced the file. "No problem. Anything in particular we're looking for?"

"A connection," said Ranger. "Something that puts Warner behind the wheel of his boss's SUV."

I felt one of my eyebrows lift. "It was a match, then?"

"The registration came back under James Springs. A receipt shows it was supposed to be in storage until January. Never reported stolen. And we found casings under the seat."

"That doesn't make any sense. He's either getting sloppy or he's just not very bright." I paused for a moment. "It feels off somehow."

"I agree. Start with the Bartlett file. Make notes of anything abstract. I've also pulled some information on missing girls in the past two years. Probably you won't find much, but you might get lucky."

"How lucky?"

It had come out before I could help myself. Ranger's eyes pooled dark and his mouth curved into a devilish grin. "That depends. Wanna tell me what's in the bag?"

He gestured to the yellow Speakeasy bag at the end of the table.

"Oh, that." Ranger gave me a knowing stare. "That's a Christmas present from Lula," I said. "She thinks I'm not getting any."

Ranger stood up and pinned me against the table. He reached over, opened the bag, and looked inside. "Babe," he said, doing a bad job at not laughing. "That present's gonna be hard to top. You got any ideas?"

"I was thinking maybe I would get her Tank, but I'm kind of afraid to stun him."

Ranger's eyes flashed. "Good thinking," he said. Then he shrugged off my vest and kissed me back onto the table. His hand slid up my shirt and rested at the base of my breast, where his fingers drew little circles on the skin. We broke away just long enough for him to strip me down to my Victoria's Secret underwear. Then he reached in the yellow bag and pulled out the bottle of oil and tipped it upside down so that it drizzled across my midsection. Ranger ran his hands over the oil and it began to heat up. An electric charge ran straight to my doodah, and I moaned.

"Babe," said Ranger. He crashed his lips into mine as his hands began working slowly down, spreading the oil across my abdomen, down my hips, all the way to my...omigod!

We lay together on the couch for a while when we were done. Ranger's arm trailed the length of my body, my skin still glistening from the oil. After half an hour, we decided to get back to work. I took a moment to clean up in the bathroom, threw on Ranger's robe, and plopped down on the couch with the Bartlett file.

I fell asleep somewhere between one-thirty and two. Ranger nudged me awake at half-past-three, and half-carried me into the bedroom. Then he helped me out of the robe and lowered me onto the bed.


	13. Chapter 13

"You made the paper."

Ranger was already showered and dressed by the time I made it into the dining room. I tightened his bathrobe around me, taking the seat opposite his. He passed me the Metro section of the Times, which featured a full-color spread on the Midnight Gala. I was in the center shot, talking to Forbes, arms crossed and face scrunched in. Grandma was right. I looked like the Clamato guy. I passed the paper back to Ranger with a sigh and helped myself to an English muffin.

"Did you have any luck last night?"

Ranger's lips locked in a wolf smile. I tried to ignore the heat rushing to my cheeks and reached across the table. I pulled a yellow legal pad from the middle of the pile of papers from Warner's file and studied it for a while.

"Does this make any sense to you?" I held up the pad for inspection.

Ranger shook his head. "No. What is it?"

"My notes from last night."

"Babe."

I dropped the pad on top of the other papers and halved another muffin. "This is going nowhere."

"You're over-thinking it. What are you looking for?"

I shrugged and swallowed. "A link. Something to connect Erika Bartlett to Grayson Warner. I know it's there, I just have to find it."

"Wrong answer, babe," said Ranger, shaking his head. "You'll go crazy thinking like that." I questioned him with my eyes. "Remember what I told you the day we met. The how and the why don't matter. You're the where person. You find Warner, you bring him in. The rest is cop stuff."

Mental head slap. He was right. I had been more focused on solving the puzzle than on securing the prize. I felt like such an idiot. My time was running out and I was back to square one.

I let out an exasperated sigh and rested my chin on my palm. "So what now?"

"Do what you've been doing. Start over if you have to. The truck's yours if you need it. I stand by my part of the deal. All of Rangeman's resources are at your disposal. Use them while you can, because as of the start of business tomorrow, I'm pulling you off the case."

Then he stood, pulled me into him by the front of his bathrobe, and kissed me. A rush ran through my body, landing in a tingle down below. Ranger pulled away and I realized I had a handful of T-shirt.

"You think you can get away for lunch?"

"Not the kind of lunch you're looking for," said Ranger, "but dinner is a definite."

I nodded and released my grip, smoothing away the fingernail marks I had left on his shoulders. Ranger holstered his Glock and pocketed his keys. And then he was gone.

At just after noon, I was still sitting at the dining room table. I had decided to work from the apartment. For one thing, the files were already there. The fact that I didn't have to change out of my pajamas was also a plus. But the real reason I wanted to stay was the cake. Ella had brought up a three-layer German chocolate cake when she came to tidy up the apartment. I was already five slices down, with five slices to go. As it turns out, cake is conducive to research.

I looked down at my list. I had separated the sheet into two columns. One was information on the missing girls and Erika Bartlett. The other was information on Warner. The only thing common denominator was the hand in my freezer. I tried to push that out of my head and concentrate on the tangible evidence, like the pictures from last night. There was another body out there, which meant Warner was still around.

And stalking me, I added with a sick stomach.

My cell phone chirped on the sideboard. It was Grandma Mazur.

"Did you see it?"

No doubt she was talking about the paper. "Yeah, I saw it."

"Sally says it's fucking fantastic. Too bad you had to go and get tear gassed. The phone's been ringing off the hook all morning. That Elaine Minardi called and wanted to know when you got work done and whether or not you're going to sue. Said you looked like Farrah after her last nose job."

"Oh, for the love of -"

I stopped short while my mother and grandmother clamored over the phone.

"Is that Stephanie? Give me the phone. Let me talk to her," my mother was saying.

"Hold on," said Grandma Mazur. "Your mother wants to talk."

"Has she been tippling?" I asked.

My mother was already on the line. "No, I have not been tippling. Where are you? You sound like you're in a tunnel."

"I'm at the office," I said.

"Are you coming to dinner? We're having meatloaf. And lemon meringue pie."

The lemon meringue was tempting. "Sorry, I can't. I've got plans."

"What kind of plans?" Hot, sweaty, sex-with-Ranger plans, I thought to myself. My mother continued. "Whatever it is, I'm sure Joseph won't mind. Just bring him with you. We have plenty."

"These aren't Joe-plans," I said. "These are work plans. Joe and I are broken up, remember?"

My mother went silent, and I could have sworn I heard the clink of a bottle. "That's ridiculous. You were together last night."

"No, we weren't. We had dinner, that's all."

She was quiet for a moment. "When did this happen?"

"Two months ago."

"Maybe it's a PMS thing," she said. There was a sloshing sound, followed by a gulp. "Maybe it's not what you think."

"It's not a PMS thing. It's an it didn't work out thing."

My mother sighed. "I don't get it. I just don't get it."

That made two of us.

"Well," she continued, "if you can't make dinner, maybe you can stop by for lunch."

"It's almost one. I've already had lunch."

"Humor me," she said. Then she hung up.

I showered and dressed and did a respectable job at the hair thing. Then I grabbed my bag and headed for the elevator. The doors opened, and Ranger stepped out.

"I thought you couldn't do lunch."

"I found a few minutes. You going out?"

I nodded. "I'm having lunch with my mother."

Ranger sighed. Then he pinned me against the door and kissed me lightly on the lips.

"You can be late," Ranger said.

"I'm already late."

"Then it won't matter."

He kissed me again, harder this time, and slipped his hands around my waist, pulling me against him. I heard the door unlock and he walked me backwards, into the apartment, and into the bedroom.

"What took you so long?" said Grandma when I arrived.

"Something came up," I told her. One thing in particular. And it had come up more than once.

I followed Grandma into the kitchen where my mother was ironing a dress I hadn't seen her wear since I was twelve. I dropped a slice of pie onto a plate and carried it into the dining room.

"Glad you could make it," my mother said, coiling the cord around the handle of the iron before stowing it away in the cabinet above the washing machine. She sat down and watched as I forked a couple bites of pie to my mouth. I recognized the look on her face. It was the same one she'd given me when my sister Valerie had moved back to Trenton a couple years ago and needed a job. I sighed and braced myself for the worst. Please, God, don't let anyone need a liver.

"What?" I asked thickly.

My mother and grandmother exchanged glances. Then my mother went in for the kill. "How would you like to save your sister's wedding?"

"Uh-oh."

"The quartet Sally booked cancelled at the last minute," said Grandma. "And we can't find anyone else to play on such short notice."

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

A couple months ago, I had accidentally let it slip that I knew how to play cello. It was a stupid lie that ran amok up until the day the cello went kablooie, along with Morelli's garage and SUV. It hadn't been mentioned since.

I chewed my pie slowly and took another, larger bite. The more in my mouth, the longer I would have to keep it closed, I reasoned. Finally, I swallowed. Time to bite the bullet.

"If this is about the cello-" I started, but my mom cut me off with a shake of her head.

"We're not asking you to play," she said. "Joseph told us how nervous you are in front of large crowds."

I could've kissed Morelli.

"Then what?" I asked, scraping the last of the meringue off the plate.

"We want you to talk to Bill Forbes," my mother said. "See if he can't pull a few strings. If your sister bails out of another wedding over something like this, I... Well, I just don't know what I'll do."

I scrunched up my face and thought for a moment. "Wait a minute. Bill Forbes? The meat guy? What's he have to do with anything?"

"You know, for a big time bounty hunter, you sure don't know much," said Grandma. "Bill Forbes is more than a meat guy. Only keeps that place 'cause he can't sell it. Used to serve on the Board of Trustees for some symphony orchestra before moving upstate. Says here he's with the Garden State Philharmonic nowadays."

"Let me see that," I said, taking the paper from Grandma.

"So you'll talk to him," said my mother, wringing her hands nervously. "You'll talk to him, and Valerie will get married, and everything will be okay."

I shrugged. I had planned on stopping by his office, anyway. Probably couldn't hurt to try. Especially if that reinstated tipple-free nights in the Burg.

"Fine," I conceded, "I'll see what I can do."

My mother smiled. "That's wonderful. That's great. Now, about this thing with you and Joseph."

I pulled into the lot at B & S and parked in one of the slots directly in front of the main office. I stepped out of the truck and stifled a gag as the smell of livestock wafted up my nose. The bell chimed when I stepped into the office, and Kathy's head shot up.

"I'm here to see Bill Forbes."

"He's in is office," she said. Then she excused herself and retreated back behind the whit1e door. I took another long look behind the counter, but didn't find anything useful this time. Instead I took a seat in one of the orange-and-purple chairs against the wall, ignoring the dull throb which had started at my left temple.

The door opened and Kathy sat back down at her desk. Bill Forbes offered me his hand, and ushered me through the hall and into his office. The turntable had been moved to a space near the door. Forbes turned the knob back and the music stopped.

"Samson et Delilah," he said. "Sometimes I listen to it to break up the monotony of the day." He paused for a moment before adding, "But something tells me you're not here for a music lesson."

I shook my head, no.

Forbes sunk back into his chair and exhaled slowly. "I've already told you all I know about Grayson Warner. I don't know how much help I'll be."

"I'm more interested in your partner, James Springs."

Forbes sat up and straightened his tie. "Jimmy?" he laughed. "You don't think Jimmy's involved in this."

"Don't know," I said with a shrug. "Do you?"

He shook his head. "Absolutely not. I mean, Jimmy, he's a model citizen."

"Doesn't explain why his car was used in a drive-by shooting a couple nights ago."

I watched Forbes closely. He was toying nervously with a stray paperclip. He swallowed once, and asked, "Do the police know about this?" I dipped my chin in a nod and Forbes leaned back in his chair. "Of course you understand that anything I tell you is hearsay. It's just speculation, that's all."

"Of course."

"When Jimmy called me yesterday, he sounded... odd. At first, I chalked it up to stress. He's got a sick wife. Hasn't been sleeping well. Probably stressed about work. But the moment I mentioned Warner, he froze up. He seemed kind of agitated."

"How can I get in touch with him?"

Forbes sucked in some air. "I don't know. As far as I can tell, no one can. His cell phone's been disconnected. The hotel says he checked out yesterday."

"What about before, when he worked here. Did you notice anything suspicious?"

Forbes shook his head. "Nothing comes to mind. Like I said before, I have business elsewhere that keeps me away. I come in and sign some papers. That's it."

"The report I got said his car was in storage. What about his other property?"

Forbes shrugged. "He and Elaine sold their house a couple years ago. Too much upkeep. They rented a condo in Hamilton Township for a while. He used to have a rental property in Point Pleasant, but I don't know he's kept that up."

I asked Forbes for the address and waited while he jotted it down on the back of his business card. He handed it to me and stood, signaling the end of our conversation. I got to the door and stopped.

"There's just one more thing," I said. Then I explained the situation with Valerie's wedding.

Forbes grimaced. "I'm not sure what I can do on short notice, but I'll make a few calls and check in with you if I find anything."

Tank was waiting beside the truck when I exited the building. I walked over and the window slid down.

"You guys up for some B and E?" Tank nodded. "Good. Meet me at Vinnie's. We'll take the Explorer."

I parked the truck in the lot at the rear and entered the bonds office through the back door. Lula and Connie were in the front, sorting through two weeks worth of files.

"Uh-oh," said Lula, picking herself up off the floor. She straightened her orange snakeskin miniskirt and fluffed her 'do. "Last time you came in through the back, you had a price on your head. Shouldn't you be wearing Kevlar or maybe some sort of psycho repellent?"

"I don't think I need the Kevlar," I said, swiping a doughnut from the box on the counter. "The repellent might come in handy. Vinnie in today?"

Connie shook her head and dropped a stack of files in one of the tall cabinets along the wall. "Nuh-uh. Vinnie had a colonoscopy this morning. Won't be back until after Christmas."

"Good," I nodded. "I need to leave the truck in the back for a couple hours"

I climbed into the backseat of the Explorer and brought Tank up to speed. I passed him the address and he punched it into the GPS. A little yellow line appeared, marking the trail, and we took off south down Hamilton Avenue.

Tank caught my eye in the rearview mirror. "You think he's hiding out there?"

I wasn't sure he was hiding at all. "No," I said. "He's staying close. But I think there's a possibility Springs is involved in this somehow. I thought maybe I'd shake him up a bit."

The drive to Point Pleasant was long and quiet. Neither Tank nor Butch said much, except the occasional monosyllable to each other. I rested my head on the glass after a while and was prodded awake by Tank once we'd reached our destination.

The house was a small two-story Cape Cod with beige siding and a brown slate roof. There was a small covered porch on the front, with two bay windows on either side. The house was charming, but unkempt. The foliage along the walk had died away. The plastic flowers in the flower boxes were faded and frayed. I followed Tank and Butch up the walk. Tank boomed on the door a couple times and we waited for an answer. Nothing. He gave it another couple of booms and nodded to Butch.

Butch kneeled in front of the door and pulled out a small pick. He forced it into the lock, pulled it out, and twisted it to the side. The deadbolt clicked unlocked and the door swung open.

"We clear?" Tank asked Butch.

Butch nodded. "No security system in place. Also no power, no phone."

We searched the main floor first and found nothing out of the ordinary. The living room connected to the dining room, which was just off the kitchen. The bathroom and master bedroom were clean, the furniture still draped in large white cloths. The two bedrooms upstairs were empty, mainly used for storage. Books. CDs. A dressmaker's dummy and a sewing machine. The whole house had a damp, empty feel to it.

A door in the kitchen led to the basement. I followed Tank and Butch down the stairs, my heart beating in my chest. Tank led the way with his flashlight.

"Do you smell that?" I asked.

"Mm-hmm."

"God, that's horrible. What is it?"

"Urine."

I clamped a hand over my mouth to keep from spewing all over Butch.

The basement was half-finished, containing a small workout area, mud room, and tiled laundry room. There was a door to the right. It was locked.

"No use raking that one," said Butch, taking a few steps back. He gave it a swift kick and the door flew open.

It was a small room, about 10'x10', with cinderblock walls, exposed pipes, and a poured concrete floor. A workbench ran across one side of the room. Various tools and gadgets were secured to the adjacent walls. In the far corner rested a mattress, blood- and urine-stained. Tank moved the flashlight across the room, stopping at a row of pictures duct taped to the wall. There were seven of them in total. Four I recognized from the print-off of missing girls Ranger had given me. One of those was Erika Bartlett. Two I didn't recognize. One was of me.

"I think I'm going to be sick," I said quietly.

Tank pulled the pictures off the walls and scanned the area for anything else worth taking. Then he turned back to Butch and said, "We're done here."

I spent the time on the drive back looking through the pictures Tank had confiscated from the house in Point Pleasant. Tank's cell phone rang and I eyed him closely as he flipped it open. I could tell by his tone that it was Ranger. Tank made a few noncommittal sounds and glanced briefly in his rearview mirror. Then he said, "Got it," and disconnected. He yanked the steering wheel sharply to the left and made a U-turn back down Hamilton Ave, away from the bond office.

I braced myself against the door and straightened up again. "Where are we going?"

"Rangeman." One word. That's it. No explanation. Not that I'd expected much of one.

"Turn around. I left the truck at Vinnie's."

Tank shook his head. "Ranger will send someone for the truck. Right now he wants you back at the office."

"Why?"

Tank threw me a look, but said nothing.

I felt my heart begin to beat rapidly in my chest, and I clinched my teeth to keep my head from rotating a complete three-sixty. No way. No fucking way. I looked at the door handle and wondered if I'd be able to jump out without getting too badly broken up. Probably not. Besides, I was sure Tank had enabled the childproof locks again.

We pulled into the underground lot and I stalked to the elevator. The doors opened and I punched five, not waiting for Butch and Tank to join. They could take the stairs.

Ranger spotted me from across the control room and sidled over. "Upstairs," he said, gently pushing me back into the elevator. The doors closed, and the car began to move silently. I pressed the Stop button and Ranger looked over.

"What the hell are you trying to pull?" I was standing, hands on hips, facing him. He was giving me an impenetrable gaze. "We had a deal."

"Deal's off."

He moved to release the hold on the elevator and I smacked his hand away. "Like hell it is!"

He threw me an exasperated look and pushed me back against the wall, holding me steady with one arm while the other traveled down my waist to the gun on my hip. I hated when he did this. I was already pissed off. Now I was kind of turned on, too. Not sure which was winning out. Ranger pulled the Sig off my hip and checked it.

"Your gun's not loaded, babe," he said. "That was a contingency to our agreement."

He had a point. So what? "Great. You found a loophole." Ranger handed the gun back to me and released the hold on the elevator. The doors opened on the seventh floor and he guided me into his apartment.

"Morelli called. They found the body in a dumpster near the bar on L Street. I'm taking a team to check it out. I expect you to stay here until I get back. Understand?"

I stared at him and said nothing.

Ranger sighed and shook his head. He retreated into his bedroom and came out shortly after, securing a gun to his side.

"I don't want you pulling anything this time," he said. "You get hungry, call Ella. You get bored, watch TV. I've given orders to have a guard by the door at all times. They are to detain you by any means necessary until I get back."

"Is that a threat?"

Ranger studied me closely. "Not unless you make it one."

Ranger moved forward and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. I turned away and he let his hand fall by his side. Then I heard the door open and close, and he was gone.


	14. Chapter 14

I paced around the apartment for a good half-hour, trying to formulate some kind of plan. I had long ago gotten used to this kind of treatment from Morelli. Not that it had worked. Morelli was one man. Ranger had backup. I was probably lucky I hadn't been carted off to his safe house in Maine. Part of me knew he was only acting out of concern for my well being, but that part was easily overshadowed by the part which was suffering from a bruised ego.

I walked to the dining room table and sorted through the files on the missing girls. Elizabeth Kelly, reported missing three days ago. The photo was the same one we'd pulled off the wall.

I punched in Morelli's number and waited for him to answer.

"He's fine," Morelli said after I inquired about Bob. "He won't be chasing the pizza man anytime soon, but he's coming around."

An awkward pause fell between us, like we were feeling each other out. Morelli broke first.

"We found the body in a dumpster near the Fuzzy Hole."

"So I hear. Ranger went to check it out. You have an ID?"

Morelli sighed. "Not yet."

"Maybe I can help you with that."

I gave him the info on Elizabeth Kelly and Morelli went quiet.

"How do you know all this?"

"I don't." It wasn't a complete lie. "It's a hunch."

"One helluva hunch."

"It was more of an educated guess."

"Shit," he said. "You want to elaborate on that?"

I considered my options. I could lie. I could tell the truth. Or I could do neither. I chose door number three. "Not really."

I disconnected before he could object, clipped my cell phone to my hip, and went back to the pacing. I was growing increasingly frustrated. I cut a slice of cake and washed it down with a bottle of beer from Ranger's fridge while I contemplated my options. We were seven floors up. That meant the windows were out, unless I happened to get bitten by a radioactive spider in the next fifteen minutes.

I scraped the last of the stray icing off the plate and set the dirty dishes in the sink. I took a deep breath and sighed. There was only one way out, and that was through the front door. Now all I needed was a good excuse and a clueless bodyguard.

I flipped open my cell phone and dialed Mary Lou. She answered on the second ring.

"I need your help," I said.

I was standing in the foyer by the sideboard, going over the checklist in my head. This was a bad idea. It was an even worse plan. But it was the only one I had. I stepped up to the door and chewed my lip for a second, remembering my gun. I hesitated, then pulled it out of my bag and checked the clip. Empty. I dug around the bottom of the bag and came up with one stray bullet. I brushed off the lint and slid the bullet into the mag. There. Loaded. I twisted the lock back and opened the door a couple of inches. A large, tan-skinned man was standing in front of the elevator, arms folded. He took one look at me and cocked an eyebrow.

"Let's have a chat," I said. His eyes narrowed, and I stifled a gulp. "What's your name?"

He watched me for a full minute before answering. "Sanchez."

I flashed him a smile and stepped into the hallway. He met my smile by lowering his hand to his sidepiece. So much for playing nice.

"Let's cut to the chase," I said. "I need to go out for a while."

Sanchez shook his head. "No."

"It's important."

"Not my problem."

"I'm making it your problem," I said. "Because like it or not, I'm leaving."

Sanchez shook his head slightly. "Then I'll have to stop you."

I chewed the inside of my bottom lip and stared Sanchez in the eyes. "You don't want to shoot me," I said with mock certainty. There was no doubt in my mind he was thinking long and hard about it.

"Not really."

"And I don't want to be shot."

"Smart girl."

"So what do you say we compromise?"

He considered this for a moment. Then he sucked in some air and let it out slowly. "Let's hear it."

I edged forward, shutting the apartment door behind me. "It's like this. My friend Mary Lou just found out she's pregnant. And she's not taking it real well. So I thought since I have to stay inside, maybe I could do it at her place. Bring over some pizza, watch a couple of Lifetime made-for-TV movies. You know, do the girl thing."

Sanchez tipped his head back and eyed me warily. "That's sweet," he said. "But I don't believe you. I let you walk out of this building, I gotta deal with my boss. And that's not something I look forward to, if you know what I mean."

I nodded. I knew, alright. I didn't like dealing with his boss too much at the moment, either.

"I'm not asking you to let me walk out of here," I shook my head. "I'm giving you the option to tag along."

"That's very considerate of you, but I'll pass."

I pursed my lips and crossed my arms over my chest. "I know you have a job to do and I respect that. But I'm bored. I'm going crazy in there. There's nothing to read, nothing to eat, and nothing to do. So if you're going to shoot me, go ahead. Just try not to hit anything major."

I nudged past him and headed for the stairwell along the far wall. I had my hand on the door when he caught me by the back of my shirt collar.

"Hey! Get off me!"

I swatted at his hands and he gripped my arm, spinning me around to face him.

"Let me go," I said. I was really starting to get pissed off again. I didn't like being man-handled. And I didn't like that Ranger had given the okay to use necessary force to keep me on the premises.

Sanchez loosened his grip, but still held firmly to my arm.

"Look," he said with the shake of his head, "Don't take this personally. I didn't want this job. On a scale of one to ten, guarding you is a zero. But you don't say no to a man like Ranger. He tells you to do something, you do it, no questions asked. I heard stories about you on the floor. The guys all have this bet on whether or not I'm going to make it through the night. Right now, I'm thinking my odds aren't so good. The way I see it, I got two options: I can either lock you inside and wait for you to try something else, something even more stupid than the whatever-it-is you're trying to pull now, or I can go along with you and hope you don't get yourself killed."

I waited impatiently for him to make up his mind. "Well?"

"Here's what we're going to do." He reached around and pulled a pair of cuffs off his hip, and clipped one of the bracelets around my left wrist before securing the other one to his right one. "I'm going to take you to your friend's house, and we're going to watch a movie. Then we're coming back, and you're going to stay inside the rest of the night. You got me?"

I hadn't expected to have to deal with cuffs. That was going to be an issue. Still, it was better than being stun-gunned. I nodded my head and offered my free hand in a shake. "Deal."

Sanchez shook his head and pushed me into the elevator. The doors opened at garage level and we stepped out. A tall, thin man with slicked back black hair was standing by one of the black Explorers on the far wall. He made eye contact with Sanchez and shook his head. Then he slid behind the wheel while Sanchez and I climbed into the backseat.

We had just pulled into the lot outside Pino's when my cell phone rang.

"Babe," said Ranger. Then he disconnected.

The SUV idled in front of the Stankovic house and Sanchez and I angled out. The front door opened and we came face-to-face with a puffy-eyed Mary Lou. Her youngest, Mikey, was on her hip, screaming his head off, while the other two fought over a toilet brush in the background. I felt Sanchez shift uncomfortably on his feet while I passed the pizza and a bag of doughnuts to Mary Lou. We moved into the kitchen and Mary Lou opened the doughnut bag. She gave one to each of the kids before sliding the last Boston Cream in my direction. A small blonde head appeared at my side. It was Ashley, Mary Lou's middle kid. She was tugging on Sanchez's black shirt with her sticky, icing-covered fingers. He made a face and looked down at her.

"My mom has a hairy private," she said. My eyes locked onto Mary Lou's, whose face wasn't even tinted pink. Probably this kind of stuff happened to her all the time. Kind of like me and car bombs. I heard a click and felt the handcuff slip off my wrist.

"I'll be in the car if you need anything," said Sanchez. He nodded in Mary Lou's direction and left through the front door.

Mary Lou shook her head. "I've gotta get a lock on that bathroom door." Or maybe invest in a muzzle. "Okay, spill. You didn't say anything on the phone."

I ate the last of my doughnut and swallowed. Then I told her about the deal I'd made with Ranger, and how I'd gotten placed on lockdown.

"I was afraid the line was tapped and I had to get out of there. You got a flashlight?"

Mary Lou nodded and opened the pizza box. "Under the sink," she said, tearing off a slice for herself, and then one for me. "You sure you want to do this?"

I took a bite of pizza and chewed for a while. "I'm sure."

I took the rear door to the alley and looked around. There was a privacy fence on the left-hand side and foliage to the right. Good cover in case Sanchez got suspicious. I took the flashlight I'd gotten from Mary Lou and dropped it in my bag. Then I cut through the alley and ran the two blocks to my parents' house.

"You're not wearing a coat again," said Grandma when I barged in the back door. "What is it with you and no coat?"

"I left it at work. Didn't have time to go back." Grandma nodded. "I need to borrow the Buick."

"What happened to your truck?"

"Left that at work, too."

"I know what this is about," said Grandma. "You're on the lam again."

"Something like that."

She took the keys off the hook by the door and dropped them in my palm. "Too bad I got an early morning or we'd tear the town apart."

"Yeah, too bad," I said. I let myself out the back door and checked for black vehicles. Once I was sure it was clear, I dropped my purse onto the passenger seat and cranked the engine. Big Blue roared to life with an eight-cylinder yawp and I backed out onto the street.

I backtracked to the house in Point Pleasant and parked in the drive. It was past nine, cold out, and starting to snow. I dug around in my purse and switched on the flashlight. Nothing. I shook it a few times and a small beam of light shot out.

I got out of the car and made my way over to the front porch. I tried the door and it swung open, leading into the foyer. I moved through the foyer into the darkened living room, taking the time to go over things I might've missed earlier in the day. There were pictures on the mantel and old logs in the fireplace. I scoured the room from floor to ceiling, and then moved on to the rest of the house.

I was on my way back downstairs from the top level when the flashlight went dead. Shit! I held steady to the banister and eased myself down the stairs, my heart beating a couple hundred times a minute. As a child, I hadn't really been afraid of the dark. It was the monsters that come out in the dark that scared me. The Boogeyman. Dracula. Bloody Mary. Extraterrestrials. Even after I had grown up and moved out, I still got the occasional creepy-crawlies at night. But that was nothing compared to this.

I only debated for a half-second about going back down to the basement before I bolted for the front door. Being alone in the dark in a creepy old house had sent a shiver of fear down my spine. I opened the door and stepped out. The moon cast an eerie blue-white glow over the landscape. I looked down and a lump formed in my throat. A large set of footprints tracked through the snow into the house. I chanced a look at Big Blue and my heart took a dive. The tires were slashed.

I backed into the house and reached instinctively for my cell phone. It was gone.

Okay, I told myself. There's no need to panic. Probably you dropped it in the car.

I tried to take in a few calming breaths, but that didn't work. Instead I tried my hand at hyperventilating and found I could do that quite well. I swallowed another gulp and rushed out the front door toward the Buick. I hadn't so much as gotten off the porch before Warner stepped out of the shadows. I was stuck to the spot, my eyes glued to his under the shaft of moonlight. He rushed at me full-force, knocking me backwards onto the cement stairs which led onto the porch. I reached into my bag, grasping for anything I could find. My gun. A nail file. A really sharp pencil. Anything I could use as a weapon. Warner slapped me hard across the face, knocking my head to the side. Then he put his hands on my throat and squeezed.

It was like all the blood had drained from my hands, leaving them limp. I couldn't get any air and my face felt like it was going to explode. My lips tingled and my eyelids grew heavy. I willed myself to fight, but it was no use. In no time, my vision got dotty and everything went black.

I woke up cold, sore, and confused. I opened my eyes and looked around. It was pitch black, not a speck of light anywhere. I blinked my eyes a few times to make sure they were really open and forced myself to concentrate. My arms were secured high over my head by a pair of handcuffs which had been draped over an old pipe near an outside wall. My mouth was taped shut. And if the draft of wind I felt at my backside was any indication, I was missing a few choice articles of clothing. I took a deep breath to settle myself and stifled a gag. That smell. I remembered that smell. I was in the basement.

My heartbeat resounded in my ears as I fought against the restraints. My fingers felt swollen and achy, and my wrists burned from the friction, but I didn't care. I tugged and pulled with all my might, not giving up until I heard shuffling on the other side of the room. The hairs on my neck stood up and my heart skipped a beat. Even in the dark, I could tell I wasn't alone.

Warner knelt against the mattress and lit a cigarette, the soft light from the flame highlighting his face. He took a draw and exhaled the smoke out his nostrils. He leaned forward and I sunk back against the wall.

"I was afraid you were never going to wake up." He lit the cigarette lighter again and held it between us for light. "Sometimes that happens. Shame, too. The screaming is the best part."

He let the flame die and took another tug off the cigarette.

"I'm not sure which I'm going to enjoy more," he reached forward and smoothed a lock of hair away from my face, his touch making my stomach turn, "the prelude or the performance."

Warner flicked the ashes off his cigarette onto my thigh and leaned forward. "You should have taken the poison," he said, inching the cigarette closer to my skin. "It would've been easier that way. But I'm not complaining. I enjoy my work. I like to take my time."

He moved the cigarette up my thigh to my navel and held it there, half an inch from the skin. I sucked in my stomach and backed against the wall even further. I was shaking in cold fear and dread, watching anxiously as the smoke coiled around my half-naked body.

"Relax," he said, putting the cigarette to his mouth again. "I'm not going to burn you yet. Not until I decide where I want to start." He exhaled a slow steady stream of smoke into my face. Then he held the cigarette along the underside of my arm, tracing it down until it was flush with the side of my face, the heat and smoke biting at my eyes. "I could start at the top. Work my way down." He lowered the cigarette to my chin, tracing it down my throat to my collarbone. "Or I could just go right for the good stuff."

Warner ran his fingers along the underside of my panties and I jerked away from him, kicking instinctively. My heel caught him in the groin, and he groaned.

"You bitch," he said. He grabbed hold of my ankle and pulled me down the mattress. He took one last draw off the cigarette and plunged it down onto the tender skin on the inside of my left thigh. Pain radiated through my body. I tried to scream and couldn't. A sour taste rushed up my throat and rested in my mouth as tears stung at my eyes. Warner let out a soft chuckle and tossed the cigarette butt into the far corner.

I felt the bed ease up and tried to track Warner' movements as he shuffled around the room. My heart was palpitating so hard it felt like my body was jerking with every beat. There was the soft glow as he lit up another cigarette. He was sitting on the stool near the workbench, toying with something in his left hand.

"You know, the last girl I did choked on her own vomit before we even got to the power tools. I'm hoping I'll have better luck this time. Then again," he added, "I have half a mind to blow your fucking head all over that wall."

Warner leapt up and crashed down on the mattress again, pressing something cold and hard against my forehead. No doubt in my mind it was a gun. Probably it was mine.

"You fucking bitch," he spat.

I closed my eyes and waited, praying that if it was my time to go, it would be swift. I thought about my mom and dad, and Grandma and Valerie. Sure, we had our issues, but that didn't mean I didn't care about them. They were family. I was genetically predisposed to love them unconditionally. Then there was Morelli. Morelli and I might've had our share of off-agains, but there was still love there. Maybe not the kind of love that ended in a gold band and a house full of kids, but still love.

And then there was Ranger. God only knows what was going on there. I sure as hell didn't. He was my mentor and my best friend. And something else I couldn't quite put my finger on. I knew a relationship with Ranger was probably a bad move of epic proportions. His lifestyle didn't lend itself to emotional attachment, and to a point, neither did mine. Yet at the same time, I was curious to see how far it would go, and I was angry that Warner was trying to take that away from me.

There was a soft click as he lowered the gun and I inhaled sharply, finally aware that I'd been holding my breath.

"No," he said, dragging the gun down the side of my face. "We're going to take this nice and slow. I'm going to enjoy making you scream. You be thinking about that."

I felt him move off the bed and shuffle through the room. The door opened and closed with a click. I listened as he climbed the stairs and moved around on the main level. Then I pulled myself up against the wall and onto my knees.

My hands were numb and cold, and my arms ached from being elevated so long. I had seen on television once where a woman had managed to slide through a pair of cuffs by breaking her thumbs. At the time, the thought had made me queasy. Now it didn't seem like such a bad idea. I pulled and tugged against the cuffs, bearing down with all my weight. I could feel the metal ripping at the skin on my wrists and hands, but fought to push the pain aside. I took in a deep breath and steadied myself, and tried again. I pulled hard on the cuffs and was surprised when the pipe broke loose, dousing me in cold, stagnate water. I collapsed head-first onto the mattress, pried the tape off my mouth, and heaved. My body was shaking and weak when I was done. I forced myself alert, trying to listen for any signs that Warner was returning.

I crawled off the mattress and felt around the cold cement floor until I found the edge of the workbench. I pulled myself upright and steadied myself against the edge until I was sure my legs would hold me. Then I felt around the table until I came up with Warner's cigarette lighter. I flicked it a couple of times and it caught, casting the room in a faint orange glow. I scanned the room and found my Sig resting on the workbench near the door. I grabbed it and stuck it in the waistband of my panties. I lit the lighter again and looked around. My bag was in the far corner, along with the rest of my clothing. I bent down and emptied it on the floor, sorting through the mess until my hands locked onto something small and round. My key fob. I pressed the panic button at the top a few times, hoping it still worked.

I had only managed to get one of the cuffs open when I heard footsteps on the stairs leading to the basement. I dropped the lighter and reached for the Sig, not at all confident that I'd be able to use it in the dark. A hint of light appeared under the door and Warner burst in, a flashlight in hand. I squeezed the trigger and he went down, cursing and screaming in the darkness. The flashlight rolled under the table and I dove for the door. Warner caught me by the ankle and I crashed onto the floor. The jolt knocked the wind out of me. Then before I knew it Warner had dragged me beneath him.

He hit me hard across my face with the back of his hand.

"You're going to pay for that."

He wrapped his hands around my neck and started to press down. I tried to push him off, but it was no use. My vision was becoming blurry again and my arms were weak. Over the years, I had learned a few things about fighting, but I'd never really gotten good at it. The only things I knew how to do real well were bite and scratch. I reached up and dragged my nails hard down the side of Warner's face. I caught him in the eye and he let off, howling in pain. I gasped for breath and felt around for the gun, but came up empty. My hand locked around a long wooden handle and I swung it at Warner. It made contact with a sickening thwap and he fell to the side.

I rolled over on all fours and reached for the flashlight under the workbench, turning it in Warner's direction. He was out cold. I pulled myself to my feet, collected my Sig off the floor, and made my way shakily up the stairs. I made it to the front door and stepped out into the cold. Within seconds, the street was lined with an army of black trucks and SUVs. My heart leapt into my throat as relief coursed through my body. I shielded my eyes against the high beams and watched as Ranger angled out of the truck.

He stripped off his jacket and wrapped it tightly around my shoulders. His eyes were dark and the line of his jaw was clinched tightly. He looked almost pale.

"Warner is in the b-basement," I said, my teeth chattering. "I s-shot him."

The tips of Ranger's mouth tilted slightly upward. "Babe."


	15. Chapter 15

In a matter of minutes, the place was crawling with cops from the Point Pleasant Police Department. I gave my statement to a uniformed officer while I was being treated by a medic, and then waited in the passenger seat of Ranger's SUV while Ranger talked to Tank. There was a tap on my window and I pressed the button to lower it.

Morelli leaned against the door, his features illuminated by the flashing lights of the cop cars. "I came as soon as I got the call," he said. His mouth was tight and his voice steady, but I could see the concern in his eyes. "What happened?"

I filled him in on most of the particulars. I had left out the part about the breaking and entering I'd done earlier that day when I gave my statement to the police. Morelli would know better, so I filled him in on that, too. When I was done, he hung his head low and ran a hand through his hair.

He looked me over, taking in my lack of clothing and the cigarette burn on my thigh, and his face drained of its remaining color. "You weren't... He didn't..."

My stomach clenched. Morelli was asking if I had been raped. Probably I would've been, too, had I not gotten away when I did.

"No," I said, shaking my head. "He didn't."

Morelli let out a sigh of relief and smoothed away the worry lines on his forehead with his palm. "Thank god," he said.

The doors to the house opened and Warner was led out on a stretcher by a couple of paramedics. Morelli and I watched as he was loaded into the ambulance.

"Is he going to make it?" I asked Morelli.

In all honesty, I didn't care if he lived or not. Morelli shrugged. "Don't know," he said. I could tell by his tone that he didn't care all that much, either.

The corners of Morelli's mouth twitched and he turned his eyes back on mine. "Is it true you beat him with a shovel?"

"I don't know. I never saw it, whatever it was. Shovel seems about right."

Morelli smiled and leaned into the cab, sifting a lock of hair through his fingers. I leaned into his touch and our eyes locked. I felt a warm shiver race up and down my spine. I knew that look. It was the look he always gets when I end up almost dead at the hands of a homicidal maniac. The look that told me everything Morelli wanted to say, but wouldn't.

I opened my mouth to say something, but stopped short when the little hairs on my neck stood on end. My eyes shifted over Morelli's shoulder. Ranger was standing beside the steps which led to the porch. He was listening to Tank, but his eyes were pointed on mine. My blood ran cold for a second or two. Then it began to boil, making my cheeks flush even though it was below freezing outside.

Morelli noticed this and turned his head to follow my gaze. He scoffed in Ranger's direction and turned back to me, tilting my chin so that my focus was back on him.

"I think that's my cue to leave," he said. "Promise me you'll be careful."

He gave me a meaningful stare, and I knew he was talking about Ranger. He slipped his hand behind my neck and pulled me forward, brushing his lips lightly against mine. Then he turned, nodded once in Ranger's direction, and walked away.

Ranger finished up with Tank and slid behind the wheel of the SUV. Neither of us said a word on the way back to the office. He parked in one of the slots on the far wall and guided me to the elevator with his hand protectively at my back. We got off at the seventh floor and he steered me into the bedroom.

"Sit down," he said, motioning to the bed. I took a seat on the edge and looked down at my feet. I was still in Ranger's coat and not much else. My body ached. My knees were raw. And ugly black-blue bruises had begun to form in various places. I folded my hands in my lap and noticed they were still caked with dried blood from where the handcuffs had cut into the skin on my wrists.

Ranger came back into the room a few minutes later with some towels, bandages, and antiseptic. I kept my head down, staring at the hem of his coat. He pressed something cold against the left side of my face and I flinched. He knelt down in front of me and his eyes softened.

"Hold it there," he said, placing my hand on the ice pack. "It will help with the swelling."

I nodded my head a fraction of an inch and diverted my eyes back to my lap. Tears were starting to well up again. I was embarrassed and ashamed. This whole thing had been my fault. I had been careless and put myself in danger. And I couldn't even remember why. Probably it was to prove something, though I couldn't recall what that something was.

I started to speak and felt the first splash of warmth on my cheek. "I thought I was going to die," I said.

Ranger was quiet for a moment. He took my free hand and wiped away the blood with a warm washcloth. "So did I."

He bandaged one wrist and then the other, and then washed the blood away from my knees. He took in the screaming red welt on my left thigh and his face went blank. He turned his eyes on me once more.

"I'm used to a certain level of respect from my employees. I tell them to do something and they do it. I knew when I hired you that you would be the exception to that rule. But I can't allow this kind of behavior to go unchecked. It sets a bad example and it undermines my authority. If one of my men had pulled a stunt like that, they would be facing a month-long stay in St. Francis." He lifted my chin so that we were eye level before adding, "But you are not one of my men. And you're no longer one of my employees."

I stared at him, incredulous for a moment, trying to simmer up some sort of anger or resentment, but couldn't find any. I was getting off easy. And I knew it.

"You can keep the pay out from Warner's bond. You can keep your gun. And you can keep the key to my apartment."

"I'm s-" I started, but Ranger cut me off by pressing two fingers tenderly to my lips.

"Get some rest," he said. "We'll talk about this later."

I woke up late the next morning and lay in bed a while before attempting to get up. My head felt heavy and lopsided. I eased a hand to my face and found out why. A large lump had formed on my cheek. I sat up and turned looked around. Ranger's side of the bed was still perfect. I padded into the bathroom, ignoring the sliding feeling in my gut. Then I did the shower thing and the hair thing, and chanced a peek in the mirror. Any illusions I'd had at being able to cover up the bruising were dashed. A big monster of a bruise ran down the left side of my face, while I couple of smaller ones rested on the right. My bottom lip was swollen and cut. Two purple handprints rested just north of my thorax.

I dressed in a black turtleneck and pulled on a pair of black jeans from the drawer on the far side of Ranger's closet. I had to lay flat on the bed to fasten them. Cake might have been therapeutic to my mental health, but it was waging war on my waistline. I pulled one of Ranger's baggy sweatshirts over my head, grabbed my keys, and locked the door behind me. I took the elevator to the underground lot and spotted Big Blue across the lot. The tires had been replaced, and the exterior washed and waxed. I crossed the lot and angled into the front seat. My cell phone was resting on the dash. I dropped it in my messenger bag and pulled out of the lot, toward the Burg.

It was almost noon when I pulled up in front of Tasty Pastry. I ordered the usual-four Boston cream doughnuts, a couple glazed, and a chocolate, with sprinkles-and carried the bag to the car. I was stopped at the curb, digging for one of the Boston creams at the bottom when it happened.

"You!"

My heart stopped. I knew that voice. I dropped the bag of doughnuts, spilling them onto the sidewalk. Then I spun around and came face to face with Morelli's Grandma Bella.

"I knew it," she said, pointing her bony finger in my direction. "I knew you were not good enough for my grandson. In and out of his bed, luring him in with your body but refusing a ring! Ptuy!" She spit on the ground by my feet. "Shame on you! I should put the eye on you!"

Oh, shit. The Eye! "It's not like that. Really. Joe and I-"

"You break my Joseph's heart," she continued. "You are not fit to speak his name! I am giving you the eye!"

All around, people were stopping to stare at the display as Morelli's grandmother fell into a trance. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she started mumbling in Italian. Then, she stopped.

"Omigod."

"I have had a vision," she announced. "You do not deserve the eye."

A collective sigh flowed through the crowd, but it was premature. Grandma Bella wasn't finished.

"In my vision, I saw a child. Your child, with another man. It will be a scandal. Your family will never live it down. He will leave and you will feel the pain you've inflicted upon my grandson. Ha! Ha!"

Grandma Bella cackled a cold laugh and I instinctively clutched my stomach. I spun back to the car, crushing the doughnuts beneath my boots. My hands were shaking so hard I couldn't get the key to fit into the lock. Finally, I pushed it in, turned it, and crawled across to the driver's side. Then I cranked the engine and pealed out onto Hamilton Avenue.

I flipped open my cell phone and punched in Morelli's number.

"Make her take it back," I said.

"What?"

"The eye! She gave me the eye!"

Morelli was booming with laughter in the background.

"It's not funny!" I yelled into the phone.

"There's no such thing as the eye," he said, his laughter calmed, but still present. "But I'll talk to her, see if I can't get her to leave you alone for a while. You had lunch?"

"No. I'm on my way to pick up the body receipt from last night."

"I'll meet you out front in ten."

We ordered a couple meatball subs at a hole-in-the-wall deli near the Trenton cop-shop, and secured a booth in the back. I took a bite and washed it down with some water. Morelli was staring at me.

"Uh-oh," I said. "I feel one of those conversations coming on."

Morelli sighed. "We need to have a talk, cupcake."

I swallowed and put my sub back down on the plate, my appetite fading.

"What's going on with you and Ranger?"

Beats the hell out of me. "He fired me."

Morelli raised his eyebrow a fraction of an inch. "Can you blame him?"

"Not really."

Morelli was quiet for a moment. "And the other?"

I shrugged. I didn't know the answer to that question. Morelli got the point, and sucked in some air.

"I need a break," he said. "I can't keep going back and forth like this. I've made my position clear. I don't like your job and I don't like you working with Ranger. But I can't shake the feeling that the real reason we're not going anywhere is because you can't make up your mind."

He was right. I knew he was right. I hated when that happened.

I stared at my sub and picked at a few potato chips. Not all that long ago, the situations had been reversed. When Morelli and I first got together, I had been one step away from ordering curtains for his windows and picking out china patterns. At the time, he had told me not to get any ideas. Two years and a failed engagement later, I was the one with cold feet. Huh, I thought. What about that.

I nodded at Morelli. "You're right," I said. "It's not working. I need some time."

"We both do."

"So that's it, then."

Morelli shrugged in an I guess so sort of way. I watched him for a minute, then shook my head.

"That was too easy."

"Yeah," he said. "I thought so, too."

"I could scream a little, if you want. Slam some doors. You could mumble in Italian, or do that thing with your hair."

Morelli grinned. "Maybe later."

I was halfway to the bond office when my cell phone rang. It was Mary Lou. "Meet me at Marsillio's," she said.

I made a right onto Roebling and parked in the lot beside Mary Lou's SUV. Mary Lou was waiting for me at the bar behind a Big Boy margarita. She was beaming.

I arched an eyebrow and approached her. "What are you doing?"

"Celebrating," she said. "I'm not pregnant!"

I pulled up a stool and ordered one for myself. Sure, it was barely noon. But I'd had a long night. And besides, we were celebrating.

"Lenny's mother has the kids until eight, so I went for a blood test this morning. When they told me it was negative, I couldn't believe it. I called Lenny and told him the good news, right before I told him he was getting a vasectomy."

The bartender set my margarita on the bar. I licked some of the salt off the rim and took a drink. "How's he taking it?"

"He took it well, except for the vasectomy part."

My margarita was half gone by the time I'd finished filling her in on Warner. I was feeling warm and gooey inside. Probably having a drink the size of a football first thing in the morning on an almost empty stomach wasn't such a good idea.

"Omigod," she said, taking a sip. "He fired you?"

"Mm-hmm."

"So you two..."

I shrugged. "Don't know."

"You should call him."

"Maybe."

Mary Lou shrugged and took another sip of margarita. "Couldn't hurt."

She had a point. Thing was, I wasn't sure there was anything I could say that would make a difference. And I didn't know why it bothered me so much. So what if I lost my job. Been there, done that. Big whoop. I'd go back to Vinnie's, chasing skips and sleeping in my apartment. Everything would go back to normal. Then again, maybe that was the problem.

Mary Lou handed me my cell phone and said, "Go on."

I reluctantly took the cell phone and carried it to the back, near the restrooms. I took a few breaths to calm my nerves and flipped it open. Then I punched in Ranger's number and waited.

"Yo."

Disconnect.

Oh, shit. What did I just do? I hung up on Batman. I called him and hung up. He hates hang-ups.

My cell phone rang, and I stared at it like it was about to explode. I swallowed once and answered.

"Babe. Did you just-"

Disconnect.

Oh, shit. I did it again! I looked around in a blind panic, not sure what to do. Probably he would call back. Or maybe have me marked for death. Okay, so that was a little extreme. Or was it?

I turned my phone off, secured it at my hip, and went back to the bar. Mary Lou was watching me expectantly. "So-o-o?"

"Voicemail," I lied.

Mary Lou looked pained.

"It's alright," I said. "I left him a message. Thanks. I feel better now. A lot better. I'm sure it's fine."

I told Mary Lou about my encounter with Grandma Bella. By the time I had finished, I was slurping the last of my margarita from the bottom. Mary Lou's looked like it had hardly been touched.

"Omigod," said Mary Lou. "She really put the eye on you?"

I shook my head. "No," I slurred. "She had a vision and called it off. She said I would end up pregnant and alone. And miserable. We can't forget that. That's the most important part. I'm going to be miserabibble."

I tilted my glass and looked inside. It was mostly ice now, but I drank it anyway.

Mary Lou was quiet for a moment. "You don't think..."

I rolled my eyes and started laughing. Me? Pregnant? Yeah, right.

Mary Lou plucked my margarita off the bar, and hid it behind hers. A lot of good that would do, considering it was empty. "This isn't funny, Steph."

The gears in my head started clicking and my laughter died away. She was right. It wasn't funny. It was the antithesis of funny. It was terrifying.

I closed my eyes for a second and told myself to chill. Probably Morelli was right. There was no such thing as the eye. Most of Grandma Bella's visions had me either knocked up or dead. Sometimes both. And besides, I'd already taken a test.

"Omigod," I said, suddenly more sober than I'd been all day. "The test strip. Was it on the right or the left?"

"The right. I think."

"You think?"

"I can't remember," Mary Lou admitted. "I just grabbed them both and assumed..."

I couldn't hear the rest of Mary Lou's sentence for all the clanging in my head.

"Let's get out of here," Mary Lou said, taking me by the elbow. She dropped a twenty on the bar and led me into the parking lot. I climbed in the passenger seat of her SUV and held my head between my legs.

"Don't panic," she said, buckling her seatbelt and starting the engine. "It's probably just a false alarm. I mean, you used protection, right? How long has it been since your last period?"

"I'm late," I said.

Mary Lou gulped audibly and pulled out onto Hamilton Avenue. "Okay. Here's what we're going to do. We're going to buy a test and go back to my house. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about."

I nodded and sank back into the seat. Something in the side mirror caught my eye. A black SUV pulled behind us three car lengths away.

"Shit." Mary Lou gave me a questioning look and I turned on my cell phone. I dialed Ranger.

"Tell your goons to get off me."

"Tank won't appreciate you calling him a goon," said Ranger. "Did you need something earlier?"

Maybe a lobotomy. "No."

Ranger disconnected and I checked the side mirror. I couldn't see the black SUV, but I knew it was there. Probably cloaked in an invisibility shield.

Mary Lou pulled into the parking lot outside a small drug store and we sidled out. She was on lookout while I went in for the goods. The door chimed, and I kept my head low, my arms folded across my chest. I was dressed all in black and looked like the poster child for a battered women's shelter. Talk about inconspicuous.

I made my way to the feminine hygiene aisle and shifted my eyes from side to side. My paranoia was getting the best of me. People buy pregnancy tests all the time, I told myself. It's no big deal. Unless you're from the Burg.

I felt a tingle at my neck and jumped, knocking over a row of pregnancy tests, a couple tubes of KY Jelly, and a box of tampons. I bent down to pick them up and saw the black SUV pass by the drug store window. Damn it.

I carried the box to the register, paid with cash, and met Mary Lou outside. She took the bag from me in the car and pulled out a box of super-absorbent tampons.

"Let me guess," she said. "You chickened out."

I sighed and pulled two pregnancy test kits out from underneath the oversized sweatshirt. "I guess you could say that."


	16. Chapter 16

We were in Mary Lou's living room waiting on the results. The box had advertised results in as little as three minutes. One down, two to go.

"I still can't believe you shoplifted."

"Desperate times," I said, pacing back and forth between the couch and the TV. "And it's not like I meant to. It just happened. And I did pay for the tampons."

The timer beeped and my heart stopped. I turned to Mary Lou for support, and we walked into the bathroom. I took a deep breath and looked down. After a minute or two, I opened my eyes.

"Maybe you should take another one," Mary Lou suggested. "Just to be sure."

I nodded and closed the door behind her. Then I tore open the second strip, turned on the faucet, and waited for nature to take its course. When it did, I plunged the stick into the stream and counted to ten.

Mary Lou was waiting in the hallway when I opened the door. "What are you going to do?"

I wiped a stray tear with the back of my hand and shrugged. I looked down at the test strips again. There were four of them in total, all saying the same thing: You're fucked.

It was almost seven by the time we made it back to the lot outside Marsillio's. Mary Lou squeezed my hand as I got out of the SUV and told me to call her if I needed anything. I agreed with a short nod, and piled into Big Blue. I was half a block from my apartment when I realized I didn't have Rex.

I parked in the lot underneath the Rangeman building and took the elevator to five. I had decided on the way that I should probably clear out my desk, too, since I was no longer employed there. Hal and Woody were watching the monitor banks, while Ram listened in on the police scanner. I moved quickly to the back cubby and saw that my things had already been boxed up. I lifted the box in my arms and back toward the opening. The computer screen flashed. One of the search programs was still up and running.

I don't know possessed me to do what I did next. Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones, or the residual effects of the margarita. All I know is that suddenly, a name appeared in one of the boxes. MANOSO, RICARDO CARLOS. I looked down at the pair of hands on the keyboard. It took me a moment before I realized they were mine.

My heart was racing. That nagging voice inside my head was shouting for me to stop, telling me that this was a really bad idea. I hesitated for a moment, and then told it to shove off. I closed my eyes and pressed the Enter key.

I stood in front of the computer screen with baited breath while the program began its search. After a minute, I started to get fidgety. It usually didn't take more than a few seconds to render the results. I wiggled the mouse and a box popped up requesting a security code.

Uh-oh.

Okay, I told myself. Get yourself out of this. Think of something. Anything. I pressed the escape key a couple times. Then control-alt-delete. Then the escape key again. It was useless. The screen was locked. I heard the elevator doors slide open and the low chatter on the floor died away. I poked my head around the corner of my cubby wall. It was Ranger. He spotted me and began to make his way across the floor in quick strides. I glanced back at the computer screen and went head-first into panic mode.

I lurched under the desk, grabbed a handful of cables, and gave them a quick tug. My body flushed with relief when I heard the soft whir of the CPU come to a halt. Phew. I stood up and turned around. Ranger was leaning against the opening of my cubby, his eyes fixed on me.

"What are you doing?"

I closed my mouth and swallowed. "I was just-" I started, but my thoughts were interrupted by an outburst on the floor.

"Fuck!" It was Hal. He moved from one monitor bank to the other, and back again. "Oh, fuck!"

Ranger pulled himself to full-height, and turned to him. "What is it?"

Hal ran a hand over his head. "We've lost the feed."

"Which one?"

Hal shook his head. "All of them."

Ranger's jaw clinched. "Get Boston on the line. Tell them we need backup. Ram, call Tank and get him back here. I want everyone in the building on stand-by." Then he turned back to me once more, and asked, "What did you do?"

I gulped.

Ranger shook his head, and moved onto the floor.

"Ranger, I-"

He turned his eyes on me, and I froze. "Don't," he said.

"But I-"

"Stephanie," he said, just shy of shouting. "Go home."

I brushed past Ranger and ran for the elevator. I pressed my back up against the wall of the car and fumbled with the key fob. My hands were shaking. The doors opened and I let myself into Ranger's apartment. I collected Rex's aquarium off the counter and dropped my key fob and cell phone on the silver plate on the sideboard, and headed for the underground lot.

I climbed into Big Blue shaking and on the verge of tears. I cranked the engine and told myself to get a grip. I could cry later. Right now I had to get the hell away from the building. And from Ranger. If he was half as mad as he had sounded, I'd be booked on a flight to Somalia before dawn.

I tore down the street and drove on auto-pilot back to my apartment. I parked in the lot and took the elevator to the second floor. My apartment had a cold, abandoned feel to it. I set Rex's aquarium on the end table near the sofa, switched on some lights, and turned on the TV for background noise. There, that was better. My stomach growled, and I padded into the kitchen. I opened the refrigerator and groaned. Still empty.

It was late and I was tired. I briefly entertained the idea of going to bed and going out for food in the morning. There came another loud grumble and I let out a slow breath. I looked around for anything resembling food and came up with the same packet of banana oatmeal I'd turned down a week ago. Then I dug my keys out of my pocket, said a quick Goodbye to Rex, and locked the door behind me.

The weather was surprisingly mild for winter in New Jersey. It as cold, and sometimes snowy, but hardly reason enough to justify hoarding toilet paper and cans of mixed vegetables for the Big One. The wind was picking up as I hurried across the lot to the Buick. I sank into the seat, started the engine, and turned the heat on full-blast to get rid of the chill. Then I drove the two blocks to the nearest McDonald's and bought a large bag of French fries, a large Coke, and a chocolate milkshake. Since there was good chance I was going to wake up tomorrow morning en route to Mogadishu, I figured it would be okay to indulge. I parked in one of the slots by the drive-thru entrance and tore open the bag. It was two days until Christmas, and I hadn't done anything. No decorations. No tree. I hadn't even bought any gifts. I finished the fries and turned my attention to the milkshake. When that was gone, I stuffed the empty cups into the bag and drove back to my apartment.

I found a slot in the back near the entrance and cut the motor. Once my check for Warner's bond came in, I would go car shopping. In the meantime, I would be stuck with Big Blue. I looked around the interior and frowned. Okay, I thought with a sniffle, now you can cry.

I rested my head on the steering wheel and let out a few sobs, but my heart wasn't in it. I was cold, and I was tired. I wanted to take a shower, go to bed, and wake up like none of this had ever happened. I wiped my eyes and slipped my messenger bag over my shoulder. Then I collected the crumpled McDonald's bag and the bag of tampons and test strips, and shuffled to the elevator.

Ranger was sitting on the sofa waiting for me when I opened the door to my apartment.

We stared at each other for a full minute before I crossed the threshold. I dropped my bag by the door and ambled into the kitchen without saying a word. I tossed the McDonald's bag into the trashcan and turned around. Ranger was standing in the doorway. His thumbs were hooked into the front pockets of his jeans, but his posture was imposing, almost predatory. He was waiting on me to say something. I instinctively took a step back and held the bag of tampons and test strips behind me.

"We found the problem," he said. "Someone disconnected the main satellite receiver from one of the server ports. We lost an hour of transmission. The men are scanning the backup tapes now."

"That was an accident."

Ranger edged closer and I flattened myself against the wall next to the refrigerator.

"I also received word of a security breach. Someone from my office performing an unauthorized search." He crossed his arms over his chest, and nodded in my direction. "You know anything about that?"

I was staring at him, a deer caught in the headlights. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"You're not the first to try it, babe," he said, almost dismissively. "And you won't be the last. You want to tell me what's going on?"

"Not really," I squeaked.

Ranger shook his head and took a couple steps toward me. He dropped one hand to his side and pressed the other against the wall.

"I'm trying to be civilized," he said, "but I'm losing patience. If there's something you want to get off your chest, I suggest you do it before I change my mind."

Right then, the only thing I wanted off my chest was Ranger. He was trying to intimidate me, and it was working. I decided to turn those feelings of fear and dread into something more useful, like hot, roiling anger. Running a search on Ranger might've been invasive and rude, but it's not like he hadn't done the same thing. He probably knew more about me than I did. And what about all those times he let himself into my apartment, without so much as knocking first? Talk about a double standard.

"I want you to leave," I said, so loud and authoritative I nearly wet myself. Ranger's eyes flashed. He shoved off against the wall and folded his arms across his chest.

"Not until I get some answers."

"Fine," I said. "Suit yourself. I'm going to bed. Remember to fasten the chain lock if you have to go out."

I swept past him and made it as far as the living room before he caught me by the elbow, spinning me around to face him.

"Let me go," I said through clinched teeth. Ranger loosened his grip, and I shrugged him off.

Ranger sucked in some air and looked at me through narrowed eyes. "You're hiding something," he said. "I'm not leaving until I find out what it is."

"Look who's talking," I scoffed. "Mr. Let-It-Go, himself, giving me a lecture on hiding things!"

I was flailing my arms around, raving like a mad woman, and I didn't care. I had no job. No car. My savings account was dwindling. And my boobs were starting to hurt. My life was officially shit.

Ranger's eyes followed me for a second, and he asked, "What's in the bag?"

Crap. The bag. I'd forgotten about it. I felt the panic creeping up the back of my throat.

"You first, Ranger. When's your birthday? What's your favorite color? Where's your house? Who's Auggie?"

Ranger's eyes darkened at my last question and my heart skipped a beat. Obviously I had hit a nerve. Ranger moved forward and reached for the bag. His fingers grazed the top of the fold and I jerked away from him.

"Here," I shouted. I plunged my hand into the bag and ripped open the top of the tampon box. I grabbed a handful of pink plastic-sheathed applicators and threw them in his direction. They bounced off his chest and scattered onto the floor by his feet. "Are you happy now?" I threw another handful for good measure, and waited for a response.

Ranger looked stunned for a moment. Whatever he had been expecting, it hadn't been that.

"Babe," he said, with the slightest hint of amusement in his voice.

"Get out!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, pointing toward the door. "Get out! Get out! Get out!"

Ranger gave me one last assessment, and then he turned and left. He closed the door behind him and I sank onto the couch, my knees suddenly unable to support my weight. I turned my attention to Rex's aquarium. He slunk out of his soup can and fixed his beady little black eyes on me.

"Don't give me that look," I said. "You wouldn't have told him, either."

I woke up on the couch at seven o'clock the next morning, and realized I was still in my black jeans, turtleneck, and hooded sweatshirt from last night. Good enough for breakfast, I thought. So I shoved my hair under a baseball cap, grabbed my bag, and moseyed downstairs to the rear lot. I waited in the car for a few minutes while it warmed, then took off in the direction of the Shop Rite in Hamilton Township. I stocked up on the necessities, paid with my debit card, and set the bags in the backseat.

I was unpacking the groceries in my apartment when the phone rang.

It was my mother. "The phone's been ringing off the hook. What's this I hear about you shooting someone? I thought you were trying not to do that. And why haven't you been answering your cell phone?"

"I only shot him once," I said, trying to act casual. Probably it was best if she didn't know the part about me being half-naked and chained to a pipe. I was trying to forget that one, myself. I cradled the phone between my ear and shoulder and smeared some peanut butter onto a slice of white bread. "And I didn't answer my cell phone because I don't have one anymore. I gave it back to Ranger."

"You're killing me, you know. You're taking years off my life." My mother sighed. "Will we see you at dinner tonight? I'm making pot roast."

"Sure," I said. "See you at six."

I disconnected and rang Connie at the bond office.

"I've changed my mind," I said. "I'm coming by to get the check."

"That's fine. What's the rush?"

"I got fired."

It was five minutes after three by the time I made it to Vinnie's. I managed to wrangle the Buick into a slot in front of the double glass doors on the third try, and stepped into the office.

Lula and Connie were behind the desk, drooling over the latest People magazine. I could tell by the way they were acting it was the one with Vin Diesel on the cover. Connie carefully painted a fingernail and held it up to the light. She took one look at me and jumped. The bottle of nail polish tipped over, covering Vin in a pool of red goop.

Lula screamed, and began blotting the polish with a couple Kleenexes.

"I told you," she said to Connie. "Don't be doing that multi-tasking shit. Now I'm gonna have to buy me another magazine, 'cause this one got all sticky. What? What is it? What are you looking at?" Lula followed Connie's gaze. She took one look at me and her eyes bulged. "Damn."

I didn't know what the big deal was. Okay, so my hair was probably a mess, where I'd had it shoved under a hat all day. And I still hadn't changed my clothes. Then there was the bruising and swelling of the entire left-hand side of my face.

Connie picked up an envelope with two fingers, and passed it to me while she blew her nails dry. "You okay?"

I nodded. "Fine," I said. "You got anything in?"

Connie shook her head. "A couple of low bonds. Nickel-and-dime stuff. And they're messy. You don't want those." She watched me for a moment before adding, "He really fired you?"

"Yup."

Lula shook her head. "Nuh-uh," she said. "That's just wrong. He should never have done that."

I shrugged.

"You sure you're okay?" asked Lula.

"I'm fine," I lied. Truth was, talking about Ranger was making me kind of queasy. I hadn't given much thought to our encounter the night before, but now it was weighing heavily on my mind. I'd yelled at him. And pelted him with tampons. Probably he hadn't liked either of those things. I excused myself to the bathroom and threw up my peanut butter sandwich. Lula was waiting outside the door when I came out.

"You're not looking so hot."

I wasn't feeling all that hot, either. "I think I need to sit down."

Lula helped me across the room and lowered me onto the fake leather couch. I rested my head in my hands and waited for the room to stop spinning. Then I realized my eyes were tearing up. One word kept playing over in my head. Pregnant. I was pregnant.

Oh, god.

"Uh-oh," said Lula. "I know that look. I used to see it a lot in my previous profession. You want some coffee? Maybe a doughnut? Connie, Stephanie needs a doughnut."

Connie bustled over with a glazed doughnut, but I shook my head. No way a doughnut could fix this. Not unless it had cream filling. There was a splash down my cheek, and I chased away with the palm of my hand.

"I knew it. That hottie cop knocked you up, didn't he?" I shook my head and wiped away a few more tears. Lula looked confused. "Then who... Nuh-uh. No way. Not him. Girl, you never told me you did it with him!"

I bent my head forward and wept in these huge full-out sobs which left me sore. Lula handed me a box of Kleenexes and put her arm around my shoulder.

"You remember that morning you found me on the fire escape? You kept telling me it would all be okay. You took care of me when nobody else gave a shit. Now I'm gonna take care of you. I'm gonna get you cleaned up and we're gonna figure this out. I don't tell nobody this, but I got a little money stashed away. Not a whole lot, but enough to get you fixed up. There's this doctor a few miles out. Had to go to him a few times back when I worked as a 'ho. He's real good. Private, too. No one would ever know but you and me and Connie, and we won't say nothing."

I blew my nose into one of the tissues, and hiccupped. The door chimed, and my body tensed. I knew it was Ranger even before Lula pulled the .44 Magnum out of the waistband of her skirt. She fired once and we all froze on the spot. The shot took out a chunk of the doorframe, just inches from Ranger's left ear.

Connie dropped her doughnut. "Omigod."

"That there was a warning shot," Lula said to Ranger. "I'm just getting started."

Ranger reached for his Glock and pointed it at Lula, his self-control fading. "Put the gun down."

Beads of sweat were forming on my forehead. I leapt up and eased over to the far wall. "Ranger, don't."

"Shit," Lula scoffed at Ranger. "Don't you be telling me what to do. I have half a mind to bust a cap in your ass for even showing up here after what you did. It's bad enough you gotta go and get our girl all knocked up. Now you gotta strut your fine ass in and out of here like you're some kind of fucking superhero? Nuh-uh. Fuck that shit."

My mouth dropped to the floor and my vision got all dotty. My heart was beating a couple hundred times above normal. Ranger's jaw clinched and his grip on the gun tightened.

Uh-oh.

"Stephanie." I jumped. "Outside. Now."

"Humph," said Lula. "I don't think you need to be talking to her like that. I don't think you need to be talking to her at all. Besides, she don't want to talk to you. Ain't that right, Steph?" I looked from Lula to Ranger and back again, and made a few vowel sounds. "See? She-"

Ranger's gun discharged, leaving a hole the size of an egg in the middle of Vinnie's sofa. Unlike Lula's shot, Ranger's had been wide on purpose. I looked over at Lula. She was trembling.

"Here's what's going to happen," said Ranger, his voice clear and steady. "You're going to put your gun on the counter, and back away. Then Stephanie and I are going to step outside. Alone." He quirked an eyebrow at Lula, and she nodded. Then she stepped forward and put the gun on the counter. Ranger withdrew his Glock and sheathed it in the holster at his hip. Then he turned and nodded in my direction.

I followed him outside once I'd regained the feeling in my legs and watched him cautiously as he piled into the cab of his truck. He opened the passenger's side door and motioned me inside.

"Get in." I shook my head. Ranger sighed. "Christ. I'm not going to kidnap you. We can either do this in private, or we can do it on the corner of Hamilton and Liberty. Your call."

He had a point. I climbed into the passenger's side and shut the door. Ranger pealed out onto Hamilton and made a few quick turns.

"Where are we going?" I asked, the panic evident in my voice.

Ranger said nothing and continued driving. I fastened my seatbelt around my waist and tried to stay positive. Probably I had nothing to be worried about. He came to a halt outside a vacant lot and my knees began to shake.

Ranger cut the engine and rested his arms across the steering wheel. "Talk."

I stared at my knees and bit down on the side of my lip. Now was so not a good time for the crying thing.

"Is it true?"

I kept my eyes on the dash and nodded.

Ranger sucked in a deep breath and let it out. "Fuck," he said in a low voice. "Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure."

"How sure?"

"I took a test. It was positive."

"Tests can be wrong, babe."

If only. "I took four of them."

Ranger went quiet for a long time. Then he said, "Morelli's?"

"Morelli and I used protection," I said, shifting my eyes to meet his. "We didn't."

We were quiet for a long time, both of us giving it time to sink in. Pregnant. Oh, god.

Ranger leaned back and ran his hand along the steering wheel. "What do you want to do?"

I shrugged. I didn't want to be pregnant. And at the same time, I didn't want to be not pregnant. I didn't know what I wanted. "I don't know."

An awkward silence fell between us, broken only when Ranger turned the key in the ignition, bringing the truck to life again. "I'll be out of town until Wednesday. Tank's in charge. Let him know if you need anything."

"Okay."

"Is there anything else you want to tell me?"

"Nothing comes to mind."

"The search?"

I grimaced. "Was a bad idea," I said with a shake of my head. "I don't know why I did that. I'm sorry."

Ranger brushed it off with a slight nod. "So you're not working with Morelli."

I stared at him, mouth open and speechless. It was more of a statement than a question. Working with Morelli? Ranger thought I was working with Morelli? Under normal circumstances, I would have laughed out loud. The idea that Morelli and I could work together on anything that didn't involve a condom was ludicrous. But the way Ranger said it stung like a slap in the face.

"Is that what you thought?"

Ranger shook his head. "Not really. But you have to admit, you've been acting a little crazed, babe."

"I had my reasons."

Ranger's eyebrows shot up in a you-can-say-that-again sort of way. Then he sighed, and said, "I can't believe Lula shot at me."

I couldn't believe Lula was still standing. "I don't think she'll do it again."

Ranger gave me a look that said she had better not, and pulled away from the lot. He parked in a slot in front of the bail bonds office and idled. I reached for the door handle and he took hold of my arm.

"Nereo Augustinapoulus is a business partner. His son goes by Auggie. He heads up the Boston office."

I stared at him for a while, not quite sure what to make of him. Ranger didn't offer information, not about business or anything else. Ranger was Fort Knox.

"Thanks."

"And babe," he added, as I stepped out of the truck. I turned around to face him. "Do me a favor and don't take on any new skips until I get back."

My mother was waiting for me on the stoop at ten 'til six. Ten minutes early was still five minutes too late. And being late for dinner was one of the Burg's cardinal sins, replacing gluttony, which ran second under baseball as the favorite pastime. I sidled out of Big Blue and kept my head down as I made my way to the door. I'd dressed in a pink sweater and loose-fit jeans, a gray scarf, and a jean jacket. With any luck, she would be too busy complaining about my lack of layers to even notice the big greenish-purple lump running from my left temple to the tip of my chin. I got halfway to the stoop, and heard her suck in some air. So much for that idea.

She followed me inside and stripped me of my coat and scarf, meticulously hanging them in the closet just off the living room. The dining room table was set for ten. I went through the roster in my head: My parents and Grandma Mazur; Valerie, Kloughn and the girls. And then there was me. That left two open slots. I looked around for Morelli and came up empty.

Grandma Mazur was in the kitchen draining the water off the potatoes. She gave me a look and grimaced.

"Crikey," she said. "Looks like someone beat the snot out of you."

I shrugged and took a cookie off the plate on the counter by the sink. "You should see the other guy."

"This the same guy you shot?"

"Yup."

"Good for you."

I finished the first cookie and took a bite out of a second. "What's with the extra plates?"

"We're having company," she said. "That Bill Forbes guy called this morning. Said he couldn't get ahold of you. He's booked a quartet for Valerie's wedding, so we're having him and Sally get together to work out the arrangements."

I nearly choked on a chocolate chip. "You invited Bill Forbes to dinner?"

"Mm-hmm," said Grandma. "I think he's hot. He's got that Dick Van Dyke thing going for him. You think he'd dig an older woman?"

"Don't know," I said. "Only thing we've ever talked about was a serial killer."

The ten of us were scrunched around the small table. We were somewhere between pot roast and pineapple upside down cake, and my stomach was doing somersaults. Sally and Forbes were clashing over wedding music, while Valerie lectured Mary Alice on the acceptable uses of a salad fork.

"No way," said Sally to Forbes. "Lennon was the Bartok of our time. You can't have a wedding without 'Love', dude."

I turned my attention to the other end of the table.

"It's not a dinglehopper, Mary Alice. It's a fork. It does not belong in your hair."

"But I need it to style my mane!"

"You don't have a mane."

"Yes, I do!"

I stifled a yawn and excused myself into the kitchen. My mother followed me, keeping her eyes on the back door.

"Don't you dare."

I stopped in front of the pantry and threw her what I hoped was a menacing look. Well, as menacing as allowed when directed toward the person who brought me into this world... and could probably take me out of it.

"I'm looking for some crackers," I said, rummaging fruitlessly through the cans of creamed corn and various dried goods.

My mother eyed me cagily. "Why?"

I rolled my eyes and sighed. "No reason."

"You look pale." Not sure how she could tell under all the purple. "Are you sick?"

"No, just tired."

My mother nodded. "Maybe you should rest. Go on. I'll box up some leftovers to take with you when you leave."

I watched her for a moment and nodded. My mother had always been the nurturing sort. She was the type of mother who spent her life baking cakes, kissing boo-boos, and attending PTA meetings. She'd once expressed an interest in being a nurse. She would've been a good one, too. But that had been put on hold, first to raise her children, then to help Valerie with Mary Alice and Angie.

I've never put my life on hold for anyone. I'm irrational, self-centered, and somewhat immature. I leap first and look later. And if the water's too deep, I wait for someone to come to my rescue.

Something tells me it's not going to be that easy this time.

I relaxed on the double bed in my old room. It was small and dark, with one window and a dusty pink wall color. It was pretty much the same as I'd left it when I went away to college. Same white curtains. Same pictures on the same spots on the wall. Same floral bedspread with matching dust ruffle and frilly pillow shams. I clutched one of the pillows to my chest and closed my eyes.

When I was sixteen, I'd spent a fair amount of my time in this position. Eyes closed, pillow-to-the-chest, thinking of ways to make it all better. Countless hours had been wasted waiting on a phone call from Morelli after our tryst behind the éclair case. I waited fourteen years for that phone call, and once I got it, I wasn't sure I wanted it anymore.

Now here I am, thirty years old, curled up on the same pink-floral quilt, and still waiting. Waiting on what, I didn't know. Ranger wasn't the phone call type. He was the breaking and entering type. And I'd had enough of a disclaimer beforehand to know that he didn't do relationships.

Boy, I'm such an idiot.

I woke up at a little after eleven and wiped the sleep from my eyes. It took me a while to realize where I was. I shuffled through the small hallway upstairs and into the bathroom to freshen up. Then I crept downstairs and made my way into the kitchen. My mom was in her bathrobe, ironing.

"Can't sleep?"

She shook her head, no. "Just tell me," she said, standing the iron on its end, and straightening a pants leg. "Do you like doing this?"

I questioned her with my eyes and took a seat on the fold-out step-ladder by the pantry.

"The bounty hunting. Do you like it? Is it really what you want to do?" She flipped the pants leg over. "You come in, and you're black and blue. You shoot someone, and I have to read about it in the paper. Or worse, hear it from one of your grandmother's friends. I keep asking myself, 'Why is she doing this?' And I don't know. I just don't know."

I rested my elbows on my knees and thought about it for a while. Did I like being a bounty hunter? The rolling in garbage I could do without, and I'd like to go a couple years without blowing up a car. But on the whole, the job wasn't a complete loss, and there were times that I felt pretty damn good about it.

"Sometimes," I said.

My mother nodded once, and unplugged the iron. Then she wrapped the cord around the base, folded the ironing board into the closet, and pulled a bag of leftovers from the fridge. "You'll want to put an ice pack on that at night, to reduce the swelling. And don't run your showers too hot or you'll make the bruising worse. We'll see if Sally can't do something with your makeup for Sunday."

It was after midnight when I stumbled into my apartment. I slid into the baggiest pajamas I could find and tore into the leftovers, starting with dessert and working my way back. The light on my answering machine was flashing. I carried the cake into the living room, sat down on the sofa, and pressed the Play button. Seventeen messages. Most of them were hang-ups. Five were from my mother. The next couple were from Morelli asking me to call him. The last one was from Ranger. "Babe," it said.

I checked the timestamp on the message. Just over an hour ago. I chewed my lip while I paced back and forth between my living and dining rooms. Then I took a deep breath, punched in his number, and waited. Voicemail. I slapped my forehead with the palm of my hand and groaned.

The phone rang in my hand. I took a deep breath and answered.

"You're up late." It was Morelli. "Am I interrupting?"

"No," I said. "Just a cake binge."

"I thought you were off sugar."

Crap. "I forgot."

Morelli chuckled in the background. I could tell by his tone that he was exhausted. He let out a slow breath and his tone turned serious.

"The ID on Elizabeth Kelly turned out to be a match," he said. "Lab results aren't a hundred percent conclusive yet, but I'm pretty sure we found enough evidence at the crime scene to link it to the murders of Elizabeth Kelly and Erika Bartlett. Probably a few others."

My mouth went sour. "And Warner?"

"So far we've got nothing on him other than your statement. He's still unconscious, but likely to recover."

"Shame."

"Yeah."

There was an awkward silence as we both contemplated what we were saying. Morelli, as a cop, was typically supposed to frown on homicide, even if it was justifiable. And I typically didn't like killing people, since it involved more paperwork than a mortgage loan.

"Listen, Cupcake, I-"

"Just a second," I said, cutting him off. I moved over to window and pressed my face to the glass. A single black Explorer was parked near the hydrangeas at the edge of the lot. It was dark out, and the windows were tinted, but I had a pretty good idea who was behind the wheel.

"I'll have to call you back," I said to Morelli.

I disconnected and punched in Tank's cell phone number.

"You're loitering," I said when he answered. "Did Ranger put you up to this?"

"You could say that."

I shook my head and stared in the direction of the Explorer. "Tell him to call off his watchdogs. I got fired, remember? I'd do it, myself, but I'm not getting through on his cell." I paused for a moment, then asked, "Don't suppose you'd know where he was, would you?"

"No, don't suppose I would."

I didn't believe him for a second.

"Go home, Tank," I said with a sigh. Then I pressed the End button on the phone and watched as the SUV circled in the lot and made a left onto Hamilton Avenue.


	17. Chapter 17

I crawled out of bed at five the next morning, started the coffee going, and climbed in the shower. I stood under the water with my eyes closed for a good five minutes before I realized that my hair wouldn't wash itself, and then rummaged up the strength to lift the shampoo bottle. Why do they make those things so heavy, anyway?

The smell of coffee was wafting through the apartment when I was done. I wrapped my hair in a towel, slid into my bathrobe, and shuffled into the kitchen. After a couple cups of coffee, I was feeling better. I dressed in jeans and an oversized sweatshirt, secured my hair in a ponytail, and slicked on some mascara and lip balm. Most of the swelling had gone down on the left side of my face, but now I had a pair of big, puffy bags under my eyes. One step forward, two steps back.

There was a knock at the door. I checked the peephole and opened the door to a squinty-eyed Mary Lou. She was clutching a doughnut bag in one hand, and a tall mocha macchiato in the other. She shambled over and spread the doughnuts on a couple napkins on the coffee table without a word.

"Tell me again why we're doing this," she said as she bit into her third Boston cream.

"Because I have twelve hours before I have to show up at my parents' place for Christmas Eve dinner and I don't have anything. No cards. No presents. Nothing."

When we were done, Mary Lou crumpled the pastry bag into a tight ball and tossed it in the trash. "So, where to?"

I blew out some air and rinsed the coffee pot in the sink. "The mall," I said.

"Okay," said Mary Lou with a grimace. "But you'd better bring your stun-gun."

About the only thing I remember from working at The Gap my sophomore year of college is Black Saturday. Black Saturday is the Saturday before Christmas. It's the last chance for nine-to-fivers to get their holiday rocks off, and one of the busiest shopping days of the holiday season. Stores are crowded. Parking is nil. And the lines at the ATM need velvet ropes.

The sky was overcast and the highway desolate, making the journey to Quaker Bridge Mall seem all the more ominous. By the time we'd pulled into the lot, lines were forming at the doors. Mary Lou angled into a slot near the front.

"We can't park here," I said, motioning to the sign in front. It was a slot zoned for expectant mothers and people with small children.

"Sure we can," said Mary Lou, pressing down the emergency brake as she cut the motor. "You're pregnant and I look it. Now let's get this over with."

At three o'clock, Mary Lou and I were fighting for a table for two at the food court. I piled my shopping bags on the spare chair and went over my Christmas list in my head. In seven hours, we'd managed to hit every store, some of them twice. My hair was a mess, and my allowance nearly gone. Somehow, I'd managed to pick up gifts for everyone. Well, almost everyone. I still had Joe left to buy for. And Ranger. God only knows what I'd get him. Last year I got him handcuffs. That seemed wildly inappropriate, given our current situation. For one thing, it seemed too impersonal. Plus, I was afraid he would take that as a sexual invitation.

Mary Lou came back with two McDonald's bags. I couldn't get mine open fast enough. I was starving. Boston creams were great, but they could only carry you so far. I shoved a few French fries in my mouth, chewed and swallowed, enjoying the feeling as they padded my stomach.

I explained my conundrum as we finished our sodas.

"What about a toaster? You could get him a toaster," Mary Lou suggested.

"Joe or Ranger?"

"Joe."

"He already has one of those," I said, slurping the last of my Coke from the bottom of the cup.

"Ranger?"

I thought about it for a moment. "He doesn't seem like the toaster kind of guy."

"Good point. What does he like?"

Guns. Black. High-end import cars. Actually, I didn't know if he liked any of those things. Only that he had a lot of them. "I dunno."

I got back to my apartment with just enough time to wrap gifts and get ready for Valerie's wedding rehearsal. I was on all fours in my living room, wrestling with the tape dispenser when the phone rang. I checked the Caller ID and answered.

It was Morelli. "I thought you were going to call me back."

"Shit," I said, pulling a piece of tape from the back of my hand. I slapped it on the wrapping paper seam and folded down the ends. "I meant to. I forgot."

"You're forgetting a lot of things lately, Cupcake." He sounded more amused than annoyed.

"Tell me about it. Hey, do you have a toaster?"

"Yes, I have a toaster."

"Does it work?"

"Don't know. I've never used it." Morelli was quiet for a moment. "Do I want to know what this is about?"

"Probably not."

He sighed. "What are the chances of us blowing off this rehearsal dinner?"

"Less than zero. And I've already talked to Eddie Gazarra, so if you even think about faking work, I'll-"

"Fine," Morelli said, cutting me off. "I'll pick you up at five."

He disconnected and I looked at the clock. It was already a quarter after four. That left me less than an hour to finish wrapping and get dressed.

I rushed through the rest of the gifts, hurried through a quick shower, and dressed in a knee-length black skirt and sweater. I double-lined my eyes in a futile attempt to direct the attention away from my hair, slicked on some lip gloss, and met Morelli in the living room. He had let himself in somewhere between the shower and the skirt, and was sitting on the couch watching an old Burt Reynolds movie. He stood and gave me an appraising look, running the tips of his fingers around the edge of my sweater.

"Nice," he said. His eyes were dark under the awning of his lashes, and for a split second, I thought he was going to kiss me. Then his eyes regained their focus and he asked, "You got everything?"

I nodded and let him help me into my coat. Then he switched off the living room light and locked the door behind him.

The ceremony was being held at The Silver Loon, a small bed and breakfast on the edge of town. In its time, it had been one of the more discreet, high-class brothels. The irony of this had not been lost on my mother, who had had her heart set on a proper church wedding. In the end, she caved. I guess even a brothel wedding was better than no wedding at all.

The house was an old two-story Folk Victorian painted a pale purplish blue with white and gray trim. A large wrap-around porch bordered three sides. On one end was a small lot that curved around to the rear of the house. On the other was a courtyard with a large fountain and a couple small stone benches.

Morelli parked in the lot and cut the engine. He sat for a while with the key in the ignition. Then he turned to me and said, "I got a call from Bruce Campbell yesterday. Do you know Bruce?"

I shook my head, and Morelli continued.

"He was one of my father's old poker buddies. He's one paranoid son of a bitch. Owns a small business in Hamilton Township. Always convinced people are trying to get one over on him."

"I'm not sure I follow."

The lines around Morelli's mouth tightened. "I have to ask you something." I nodded him the go ahead, and he opened his mouth to speak. There was a loud rapping sound on the driver's side window, and Morelli ran a hand through his hair.

"Jesus," he said, turning the key back in the ignition and pressing the power button on the side panel. The window slid down to reveal my Grandma Mazur.

"What are you two doing out here?" she asked. "This isn't a drive-in. We need you inside, quick."

"Uh-oh," I said, leaning forward to get a better view. "What happened?"

"Beats the hell out of me. The girls are fighting over who got more rose petals in their baskets. Valerie's locked herself in the bathroom. No one knows what happened to Oogie Woogams. And I think your mother's out back sampling the champagne. It's one big fucking mess in there."

"Okay," I said to Grandma. "Go back and see if you can get Valerie to come out. Then try Albert on his cell phone. Maybe he's lost."

Morelli rolled the window back up and shook his head. "Since when does your grandmother say fuck?"

"Since she started crowd surfing with Sally Sweet," I told him. "What did you want to ask me?"

Morelli sighed and opened his door. "Forget it. We'll talk later."

The interior of the house was warm and dimly lit. It was decorated in white and blue streamers, clear lights, and little silver Christmas balls. A tall spruce tree was decorated in the far corner of the parlor by the fireplace. The only things that were missing were the flowers. And the bride and groom.

I spotted Sally talking with someone by far window wall which looked out onto the courtyard. He was dressed in purple a pair of sequined purple spandex pants and a ruffly white shirt, and had tinsel in his hair.

"We're fucking late," he said. "We've got half an hour to get the placement right, and the fucking bride won't come out of the fucking bathroom."

"Any news on Albert?"

Sally shook his head. "Nothing. Not a fucking thing"

I blew out some air. This didn't look good. The last time Albert missed his wedding rehearsal it was because he'd ended up shit-faced on his office floor. "I'll go talk to Valerie."

I went to move up the stairs and Sally caught me by the arm. "No," he said. "Stay here. You and Joe can stand in for them. We just need to get the right placement for the cameras."

He took hold of my arm and guided me to the middle of a holly- and mistletoe-decorated arch in front of the window wall. Then he motioned Joe forward and positioned him so that we were standing facing each other. Morelli's expression was settled somewhere between a fake smile and a real grimace, and I was hit with a tiny pang of guilt. He was going through all of this and he wasn't even going to get sex out of it. Talk about devotion.

"Stephanie, move in." Sally was backing up, holding his thumbs and forefingers to make a three-sided box in front of him. "A little more... a little more... a little more..."

I threw Sally an exasperated look, took a huge step forward, and crashed into Morelli. He put his hands at my shoulders to steady me.

"Sorry," I said. I tilted my head back to look at him. His features were softened and a hint of a smile played at the edges of his mouth.

Sally was saying something in the background. Something about stepping back and turning a little to my left. But all of that was going in one ear and out the other as Morelli ran his hands in soft circles along my shoulders. He reached up and brushed a lock of hair out of my eyes, and suddenly I was very aware that I was standing in the crux of a matrimonial arch. Huh, I thought. This isn't so bad. In fact, it was kind of nice.

Morelli traced a finger down the side of my face to my chin, holding my gaze. His eyes were lidded, filled with something warm and heavy. Usually he reserved this look for when I was shot or stabbed. The I love you look.

Oh, shit. What was I doing? It had to be the hormones, I decided. Or possibly the onset of Burg guilt. Sure, the idea of a wedding was appealing. You get to dress up and eat cake and open presents. It's like Halloween, birthday, and Christmas all rolled into one nice package. Then you get to have sex afterwards. What could be wrong with that?

It was the marriage part I worried about. I'd tried the marriage thing before, and it had ended in a screaming divorce before the year was out. My relationship with Dickie had been different from my relationship with Joe, but it essentially boiled down to the same problem. I loved Morelli, but I wasn't in love with him. I wasn't sure how that had happened, either. But I suspected it had something to do with Ranger.

Oh, god. Was I in love with Ranger? Maybe, I decided. But it was a big maybe. The Grand Canyon of maybes.

I took a step back and swallowed and Morelli let his hands fall by his sides. There was a low, descending sigh, and I turned to see my mother, sister, and Albert Kloughn standing with Sally at the rear of the room. Kloughn was disheveled and covered in grease stains. Probably he had run into car trouble on the way to The Loon. Valerie was pressed up against him, her hand around his middle. My mother had her hands clasped under her chin. They were all smiling.

A couple hours later, we were crowded around my parents' dining room table. I was in the middle, between Joe and Valerie, across from my mother. I suspected this was to deter me from making a fast getaway should I get any ideas about the back door. Valerie was as bubbly as I'd ever seen her, beaming a thousand rays of sunshine as she made a small toast. This was the Valerie I had grown up with. Saint Valerie. She had gone missing for a couple years since her divorce, and during that time I'd sort of missed her. Now I couldn't remember why. The return of Valerie the Serene meant I was back to being my mother's lost cause. One daughter married, one still to go.

Kloughn was at Valerie's left, beside Mary Alice and Angie, who were beside Grandma Mazur. He gave her hand a light squeeze as she concluded, and we all took a drink of wine. It hit me mid-gulp that I shouldn't even be drinking wine. In fact, there were a lot of things I probably shouldn't be doing. Like bounty hunting. I could probably wing it for a while, but what about in three months? Six months? A year? And who would hire me with my track record? Insurance rates in Trenton were already among the highest in New Jersey. Adding me to the roster would make it skyrocket. I would have to move out of state, I thought to myself. Maybe change my name. And probably it would be a good idea if I found some way to keep my cars from blowing up, too, though I couldn't figure out how to get around that one. Those sorts of things just seemed to happen.

I gagged and coughed a little and spit the wine back into my glass. My mother dropped her fork with a clatter, and Joe looked at me, his meatloaf halfway to his mouth. He put his fork down on his plate and placed his hand between my shoulder blades. "You okay, Cupcake?"

"Sounds like it went down the wrong way," said Grandma Mazur. "A friend of mine died that way once."

My grandmother was somewhere between eighty and a hundred. She was at that age where dying was the next logical step in life. While my peers got married or pregnant or divorced, hers had heart attacks and croaked.

"I'm okay," I said, feeling slightly flushed from the attention. "I think I just need some water."

I moved to get up, but my mother beat me to it. "I'll get it," she said, reaching for my wine glass. Probably she was afraid I'd escape out the back door. She returned with the water and we tucked into dinner.

"Sally said there might be an opening at The Loon in February," said Valerie. She was spooning Baby Lisa some mashed potatoes from her plate, but her attention was turned to me and Morelli. "Maybe he could put you on the waiting list."

She waggled her eyebrows, and my mother chimed in. "That's a good idea. You know how long it takes to book these things. And you won't want to wait."

Morelli met her with a tight smile and I noticed he was white-knuckling his fork. "You look a little pale," he said to me. "Maybe I should take you home early."

"What about dessert? We can't leave before dessert."

"Cupcake," Morelli said in a low voice, "leave with me now, and I'll buy you dessert for a whole month. No. A year."

I narrowed my eyes and gave him a sideways glance. "You're just saying that."

"No, I'm not." Morelli blew out a sigh. "Okay, maybe not a year. I don't make enough to keep you in cake for a year. I don't think anyone makes that much."

Morelli was waiting by the door with our coats when the cheesecake had been reduced to a sticky spot on the cake plate.

"One more minute and I would've caved," he said once we were in his SUV. "I would've married you, your sister, your grandmother."

"Don't let Grandma Mazur hear you say that," I said. "She's sweet on you. And I hear she's been taking yoga classes down at the Macedonia Senior Citizens Center."

Morelli shook his head and backed out of the drive.

A couple years ago, Morelli had inherited a small two-story house from his Aunt Rose. The house was on Slater, two blocks from Chambers, in a nice neighborhood of starter families. It was a brown shingle, two stories, with a small porch, and three bedrooms upstairs. There used to be a small detached garage at the back of the house, but that had been blown up, along with Morelli's SUV. He pulled into the driveway at the side of the house and cut the engine.

"When you agreed to take me home, I thought you meant my home."

Morelli smiled and opened the door. He came around to my side and helped me out of the SUV. "This is just a detour," he said.

I followed him to the door and waited while he opened it. Then he ushered me inside, and dropped his keys on the sideboard in the foyer. The last time I'd been in Morelli's house had been right after the Stiva incident. Since then he'd finished the work on the trim, painted the foyer and living room a soft tan color, and invested in a large brown leather sofa. There was a small fake tree in the corner by the television, dressed in lights but no ornaments, and an Xbox sitting in front of the TV.

I plopped down on the sofa and looked around while Morelli disappeared into the kitchen.

"Where's Bob?"

"Dunno," he called from the kitchen. "He's around here somewhere." I heard a short whistle, followed by the click-click-click of doggy paws on the stairs. Bob came in, tail wagging, and greeted me with a Rolf!

"He's still not one-hundred percent, but he's getting there," Morelli said as I scratched behind Bob's ears. "I caught him trying to eat a pair of thongs last night, so that's some improvement."

My pang of guilt was overshadowed by a sudden pang of jealousy. "Thongs?" I turned my head toward the kitchen and gave Morelli a look. "Mine?"

Morelli sidled into the living room carrying two bottles of beer. He took a long draw off one and said, "Who else's would they be?"

He passed me the second beer. I stared at it a while before shaking my head. "None for me, thanks."

Morelli watched me carefully and took another long draw off his beer. He took a seat on the wooden chair in the corner and leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. "You've been acting strange ever since that night in Point Pleasant," he said. "Are you okay?"

I nodded and leaned into the far corner of the couch. "Just tired," I said, pulling my legs beneath me. "It's been a long week."

"Tell me about it." He paused for a moment, and then asked, "Is there something you want to talk about?"

I thought about this for a minute, and decided the answer was yes. But Morelli wasn't the person I needed to be talking to. That person was miles away, either sleeping in a forest or enjoying Christmas Eve with his family. My bet was on the latter. I thought about that for a while. Ranger had a family. He was with his family. And I was with Morelli. Hard to miss the irony in that one. A long time ago, after spending the night together, Ranger had told me I needed to work things out with Morelli. It had been the right thing for both of us at the time. But now the situation was reversed. I needed to work things out with Ranger. And instead of being around, I couldn't shake the feeling that he was instead passing me off again. I'll be damned if I didn't hate him just a little for that.

"Stephanie?" Morelli's brow was creased. He set his near-empty beer bottle on the end table beside the lamp and took a seat at the opposite end of the couch. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I said, shaking my head. "It's nothing."

"Seems like more something than nothing." I gave him a look. "I'm a cop. I know these things."

"Very perceptive of you."

He flicked his eyebrows up slightly and said, "They're not paying me for my looks, kiddo."

Morelli had won the award for Best Ass in Trenton ten years running, and he knew it. A couple lines around the eyes and a house with a dog had only served to solidify his standing as quite a catch. "You're just fishing for compliments."

Morelli smiled. "Maybe."

I rolled my eyes and pulled the afghan off the back of the couch and wrapped myself in it. Joe Morelli had an afghan. Who would've thought?

"There are some rumors circulating the Burg that you're moving to Boston."

Morelli let out a soft chuckle and shook his head. "No, I'm not moving to Boston. But I have some things to take care of there in a few weeks. It's no big deal."

"No big deal," I repeated, not believing it for a second.

Morelli sucked in some air and leaned in. I leaned in to meet him and he ran his fingers along my shoulder. "No big deal," he repeated. "Standard cover work. I've done it before." That didn't make me feel better. "You remember a few years ago, right before your apartment got firebombed?"

"Yeah," I said. "We were making out on my couch and your pager went off, and I didn't see you again for months. Are you saying that's the standard?"

"The pager and the leaving part, yeah. But I should've called."

"Damn right you should've," I said only half-indignantly.

Morelli looped a finger through one of my curls. "I'm going to tell you something that's just between us."

"Okay."

"There's a guy named Julian Troy. He's a mid-level coke dealer. Recently he's gotten into the arms dealing business. We're not sure where he's getting them, but we do know that most of them are ending up on the street."

My heart flip-flopped. "Where do you fit into this?"

"When I worked vice, I posed as one of his contacts. Then the Feds got involved and made a big mess out of everything. Troy got off on a technicality, and I got sent home. There's a good chance I can still use my cover. All I have to do is find the source and I'm out."

"Sounds like a piece of cake."

Morelli pulled me to him and kissed me lightly on the forehead. "You worry too much."

"You should talk," I scoffed.

"Yeah, but I only have to worry about being shot at. Your car could blow up at any given moment."

There was an awkward silence as we both contemplated what he'd just said. Both parts were true, and neither were very comforting. Morelli eased off the couch and moved to the small tree by the window. He dug a couple presents from the bottom and came back to the couch.

"Mine?" I asked.

Morelli nodded and handed me the smaller one. The larger one he shook in Bob's direction.

I shook the package and held it to my ear. "It's not tear gas, is it?"

Morelli snorted a laugh and opened the edges of Bob's present. "No," he said. "Go on, open it."

I tore open the edges of the paper and let it fall to the floor. The box was small and silver. Inside was a silver charm bracelet. Three charms had already been soldered on. One was a small diamond-encrusted S, one was a cupcake, and the other was a mouse which I presumed was posing as a hamster.

"Thank you. It's beautiful." Morelli took the bracelet and fastened it on my wrist. "What did Bob get?"

I looked over and saw Bob chewing on one of my stilettos. I punched Morelli in the chest and he laughed. "Those shoes cost three hundred dollars!" I told him. "They were my favorites!"

"Sorry, Cupcake," he said.

"No, you're not!"

Morelli shook his head. "Maybe only a little."

Damn it. "I can't believe you gave him my shoes."

"If it makes you feel any better, I saved your underwear. I couldn't bear to part with those."

I thought about it for a second. "Yeah, actually, it does."

"Good." Morelli leaned back and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. We sat in silence for a long time watching Bob hork up various parts of my shoe. I was feeling warm. Cozy. Relaxed.

I closed my eyes for one second and woke up in the guest room wearing nothing but one of Morelli's T-shirts and my panties. I checked the clock on the chest of drawers. It was just after eight a.m. I had just enough time to drive to my apartment, shower, and get dressed before my mother had a target out on my head.

I was met in the hallway by the smell of coffee and doughnuts, courtesy of Morelli. Morelli was an early riser, in part due to his stint in the Navy, and in part due to his previous life as a womanizer. Both were from his younger days. He was fully dressed and clean-shaven by the time I ambled down the stairs, wearing dark jeans, a white sweater, and a pair of black Timberland boots. The sleeves of his sweater were pushed halfway to his elbow and he had his cell phone at his hip.

"Morning." He motioned to the dining room table where a pastry bag was sitting, still folded at the top. I opened the bag and inhaled. Hallelujah.

"Morning," I offered, taking a seat in one of the ladder-back chairs. I dug through the bag and pulled out one of the Boston creams and put it on a napkin. Morelli passed me a mug of coffee and took a seat in the chair to my right. "Did you undress me?"

"Yeah." Morelli grinned. "But don't worry, I didn't peek."

"Liar. You always peek. You've been peeking since you were eight."

Morelli gave me a shit-eating grin. "Okay, you got me. But it was PG-13, I swear."

His cell phone buzzed at his hip, and Morelli moved into the living room to answer. He came back a few minutes later with a tight-lined jaw and a furrowed brow.

"Uh-oh." I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "That's not a wedding look. That's a work look."

"Something came up." I questioned him with my eyes. "It's Warner. He's awake, but he's not talking."

My stomach did that slip-n-slide thing it had gotten used to, and I forced down my bite of doughnut. All of a sudden I didn't feel so hungry anymore.

Morelli continued. "He's claiming to have no memory of Wednesday night, or of any association with the house. He's saying he blacked out."

I shook my head. "He's lying."

"I know. I'm going to go check things out, but I'll be back in time for the wedding."

"Promise me."

Morelli stood and leaned across the table. He pressed his lips to mine in a light kiss and said, "I promise." Then he holstered his gun at his hip, and tossed Bob a dog crunchy from the cookie jar by the stove. "Stay as long as you want. I picked up some things from your apartment this morning. They're upstairs in the bathroom. And I fed Rex."

"You're too good to me."

"Don't I know it," he said, flashing me a smile. Then he pulled on his coat and left out the front door.


	18. Chapter 18

I found a pair of jeans and a sweater, a clean set of underwear, and my makeup bag on the shelf above the toilet in the bathroom. I showered and wrapped myself in a towel, and padded back into the guest room to check the clock. It was just after nine, so I had a few minutes to spare. I threw myself backwards onto the bed and lay there in my thinking position for a while. I hadn't entirely gotten used to the whole pregnancy thing yet, but at least I wasn't bursting into tears every time I thought about it. That was progress, right? And besides, maybe being pregnant wasn't so bad. I had been in worse situations, and they'd all turned out fine.

I brought my hands to my stomach and let them rest there. Huh. I didn't feel pregnant. And yet the whole concept of a baby being in there my heart do that weird flip-floppy thing. Probably it didn't even look like a baby yet. I had gotten Mary Alice a box of Sea Monkeys for Christmas. Maybe it looked like that. Yeah, that's better. Sea Monkeys weren't so scary.

I dressed in the sweater and jeans, blasted my hair dry and threw it up in a ponytail. Then I did the required minimum on the makeup thing and looked around for a pair of shoes. I checked the bathroom and guest bedroom, and came up empty except for the four-inch black heels I'd worn to the rehearsal dinner. Crap. I checked Morelli's bedroom and found one running shoe in the closet. The mate was in the office in Bob's bed, half of the upper torn from the sole. It would have to do. I scrubbed it in the kitchen sink and tossed it in the dryer for a few minutes. Then I wrapped some duct tape around the shoe to hold it together, grabbed my bag off the sideboard, and stepped outside.

I looked around for a car and did a full on head slap. Joe was gone in the SUV, and the Buick was in the lot at my apartment. And I had to be at the inn in less than an hour. I went into Morelli's kitchen and called my mother.

"Where are you? You're not on your way. You're going to be late."

"I'm at Joe's," I told her. "And I need a ride. He had to go out or a few minutes, and I don't have a car."

My mother sucked in some air and agreed to pick me up on her way. I stepped outside again and waited for her on the stoop. A black SUV was idling at the far end of the street. I couldn't tell if it was one of Ranger's men or not, but my gut was telling me it was. I gave a small finger wave in the direction of the SUV and the lights flashed once. My mother pulled up to the curb and waited while I locked the front door. I angled into the car and watched in the side mirror as the SUV pulled out behind us.

An hour and a half later, I had stuffed myself into the big blue velvet dress. It was tight, but at least it zipped in the back. I figured as long as I didn't sit down or bend over or breath, the chances were good it wouldn't rip completely apart. I straightened the bodice, stepped into a pair of matching shoes, and met my mother in the hallway.

"There you are," she said. "Where's Joe?"

I shrugged. "I haven't seen him since he left this morning."

My mother's face paled and her eyes grew large. "We're starting in half an hour and the best man's missing, Albert's breaking out in a sweat, and two of the buttons have fallen off Valerie's dress."

"I'll call Joe," I said to keep her from hyperventilating. "You help Valerie."

I called Joe from a telephone in the lobby and was sent straight to voicemail. I waited for the tone and left him a message:

"If you're not here in five minutes, I'm calling your grandmother and telling her you skipped out on a wedding."

I put the phone down and looked around. It was bedlam all over. I pulled on my windbreaker and went back to check on Valerie. My mother was sewing one of the buttons on the back of Valerie's dress. She looked up at met expectantly.

"I can't get Joe on his cell phone. Probably he's on his way." Probably he's halfway to Boston by now. "I'm going to stand outside and wait for him."

Joe's SUV pulled into the lot a few minutes later and I threw him a what took you so long look as he trudged up the walk. He shrugged in response and stopped to eyeball me. A smile melted across his lips.

"You clean up well," he said.

I smiled. He wasn't looking too bad, himself. I'd known Morelli almost my whole life, but this was the first time his hair looked tame. He was clean-shaven and dressed in a black suit with a silver-gray tie, which at the moment was lopsided.

"Here," I said. "Let me help you with that."

"Thanks."

I smoothed his tie and straightened the lines of his lapel. When I was done, I looked up and caught his eyes traveling down the top of my dress. He cut his eyes to mine and gave a wolf grin.

"Sorry," Morelli said. "Bad habit."

I rolled my eyes and turned back toward the church. Morelli caught my hand as I turned to go. "Just a minute," he said. "I really do need to talk to you."

"We're late!"

"We're not that late. And it's important."

"It's freezing out here!"

"We need to do this," he said. "Now."

He took me by the arm and led me into the courtyard by the side of the inn. There were patches of snow covering the ground, and a thin layer of ice floating along the surface of the water in the fountain. We took a seat on one of the benches facing the street and Morelli leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. He was nervous. That was a bad sign. Morelli doesn't often get nervous. Most of the time he gets annoyed. And sometimes he gets angry. Morelli nervous sent my heart into overdrive and that sick feeling in my gut creep back up into my throat.

"Joe?"

Morelli was looking at the ground, his face all hard angles and worry lines. He rubbed the back of his neck and turned toward me. "Are you pregnant?"

I blinked a couple times and thought about the answer. I guess that wasn't the response Morelli wanted, because all of a sudden he ran a hand down his face and said, "Christ."

I swallowed back the goose egg-size lump in my throat. "How did you-"

"Bruce Campbell owns a drug store in Hamilton Township. He called me a couple days ago wanting to know why my girlfriend was stealing pregnancy tests. I thought he was out of his mind." Morelli paused and looked over at me. "You really steal the tests?"

I nodded, and Morelli laughed. It was humorless and dry. Not so much a nervous laugh as an I'm scared shitless one.

"Jesus Christ." Morelli gave his head a shake. "How did this happen? We were careful. We were beyond careful."

I started to say something, but my voice clammed up. Besides, what was I going to say?

"I know you don't want to get married," Morelli said. "I don't think either of us are ready for that yet. But having a kid's not so bad, right? We'll work something out."

There was a gnawing feeling in the pit of my gut. I couldn't take it anymore. I didn't know what was going on between Ranger and me. And I didn't know what was going to happen with the Sea Monkey. But that was my problem, not Morelli's.

"What's wrong?" he asked, and I realized I was starting to cry. Jeez, what's with the crying? I was sick of crying. And I was sick of feeling guilty. I just wanted that horrible feeling in my gut to go away. "Stephanie?"

I wiped away a couple tears with the palm of my hand and sucked in some air. Then I shook my head and said, "It's not yours."

Morelli swallowed and loosened the tie at his neck. His features were hardened and tense. I reached out to him, and he backed away. His cell phone rang at his hip, and he took a few deep breaths before checking the readout.

"I have to take this," he said. Then he stood up and cursed, and took off in long strides back toward the lot.

I sank back onto the bench and rested my head in my hands. My chest was tight and aching. I was trying to breathe and not having any luck at it. It was the dress. It was too tight. I felt someone on the bench next to me, and a hand slid under the windbreaker and unzipped the dress. I took in a huge gulp of air and turned my head to the side, and looked at Ranger. He was dressed in a pair of jeans and a gray sweater. His mouth was set grim.

"What are you doing here?" I asked him.

Ranger let out a sigh. "I heard about Warner," he said.

I motioned for him to zip me back up and straightened. "You flew three hours on Christmas morning because you heard about Warner?"

Ranger let out a sigh. "No," he said. "Cal is guarding Warner. I came to talk to you."

"You could've called."

"I could have," Ranger conceded.

We were both quiet for a long time, except for a few sniffles on my end. I wiped under one eye and came back with a black finger from where my mascara had rubbed off. Probably I looked pretty shitty, but I was having trouble caring about that at this point. I was feeling pretty shitty, too.

Ranger was looking towards the road. I couldn't tell if he was surveying the area or avoiding me. Probably it was a mixture of both. "We need to talk," he said.

"Here?" I asked him. "Now?"

Ranger shook his head. "No, not here. I need to get back to Miami, and you need to get back to the wedding." Ranger reached in his pocket and pulled out my cell phone and key fob. "I don't want you staying in your apartment until this thing with Warner is resolved. You can stay in my apartment if you want, or somewhere you feel safe."

He met my eyes with a loaded stare. Mental head slap. He knew I had been at Morelli's last night. I nodded and reached for the key fob and cell phone, and dropped both in my windbreaker pocket.

"Thanks," I said. Ranger nodded. Then I looked up at him and said, "Morelli knows."

I felt my eyes well up with tears again and Ranger's expression softened just a little. He put his arm around and pulled me close, and I sunk into him, sobbing like an idiot. Ranger wrapped his arms around me tightly and brushed his lips across my temple.

I hiccupped back a few sobs and wiped my nose on the sleeve of my windbreaker. Ranger brushed the hair away from my forehead and wiped the tears from my eyes. "Are you okay?"

I shrugged and then shook my head. "No," I said. "But I can have a breakdown later. I have to get back inside."

Ranger nodded and guided me toward the front of the inn. "Tank's in charge. He can take you back to your apartment to get your things after the reception if you need a ride, and then back to Rangeman. Let him know if you need to go out while I'm away."

"Do you really think all this is necessary?" I asked him.

Ranger looked at me, but didn't say anything. Then he cupped my face in his hands and kissed me. "Be careful," he said, and I watched as he walked back to the black truck parked at the curb and made a U-turn back down the street.

My mother was waiting for me when I went back inside.

"Where's Joe?" she wanted to know. "And what's the matter? You've been crying."

I shook my head. "Joe's not coming. Sally has the rings. He can stand in."

I brushed past her before she could ask any more questions and ducked into one of the dressing rooms. It was crowded with amp and instrument cases, boxes for the decorations, and flower stands. I shrugged out of my windbreaker and ran some water in the sink, and began blotting my eyes with a paper towel. I caught a glimmer of something in the sink. It was the initial charm that Morelli had given me for Christmas. It had fallen off my bracelet. I scooped it out of the water and looked at it for a moment, and was hit with a sudden feeling of déjà vu. Think, I told myself. Where had I seen that before?

Then it hit me. I'd seen a charm similar to that on the floor at the slaughterhouse, and I was pretty sure I'd seen it in one of the pictures of Elizabeth Kelly. I reached into the pocket of the windbreaker and felt around, and came out with a tiny silver E. I couldn't be sure that it was the same one I'd seen on Elizabeth Kelly, but my gut was telling me it was.

There was a knock on the door. I turned around and saw Bill Forbes in the doorway. He was wheeling in a large speaker case on a dolly.

"I'm sorry," Forbes said. "I didn't think anyone was in here."

"That's okay," I said. "I was just freshening up."

Forbes nodded. He lowered the case onto the floor and moved back to the door.

"Wait," I said. "There's something I want to ask you. What can you tell me about this?"

I held out my hand. Forbes picked up the charm and looked at it, then shrugged and placed it back in my palm.

"I found that on the floor outside your office," I told him. "I think it might belong to one of the murder victims."

Forbes shut the door and looked at me for a moment. "Grayson Warner didn't have access to that office," he said.

"No, but James Springs did."

Forbes lifted an eyebrow. "I told you, Jimmy didn't have anything to do with it."

My gut was doing somersaults. Something wasn't right. Something was very, very wrong. "How do you know that?"

"Because Jimmy's dead," Forbes said. I lunged for the door and he caught me around the waist, pinning my arms to my sides. I opened my mouth to scream and felt the cold of metal pressed up my shoulder. Then there was a loud pop and everything went dark.


	19. Chapter 19

I woke up cold and shivering. My head ached and my stomach was rolling, and I had snot and drool pouring off my chin. Stun gun. I always forget about the friggin' stun gun.

I turned my head to the side and looked around. I was flat on my back on top of a large metal table. The table was in the middle of a large metal room. I tried to move my arms and legs, but they were tied down. My dress and shoes had been discarded, leaving me in only my panties and bra. Thank God I still had those.

I blinked a few times and looked around the room. A couple low-watt overhead lights were switched on. It was familiar, but I couldn't place it. I closed my eyes and told myself to think. And then it hit me. I was in the freezer at B & S.

I struggled against the restraints, but it didn't do any good. The ropes were too tight. I didn't know how long I'd been there. A couple hours. Maybe more. I was confused and hungry. And I was scared.

My heart was racing, and I felt my throat close up. Don't panic, I told myself. Tank was watching. Probably he knows something's up. And he'll call Ranger.

Except Ranger was on his way to Miami.

The door screeched open and Forbes walked in. He was still in his tuxedo. He cocked his head to the side and looked down at me. Then he pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and blotted my chin. I turned my head away from him, and he grabbed me by my hair and held me still.

"There," he said, blotting the last of the snot and drool from my face. "That's better." He folded the handkerchief and laid it on one of the shelves on the far wall. Then he turned and walked through the door, and came back with the turntable from his office. He wheeled it over to a small corner and plugged it in, and the room filled with creepy music. "I hope you don't mind," he said. "The music helps me think."

"W-what are you doing?" I asked him.

Forbes let out a sigh. "I've been asking myself that same question for thirty years. Do you know what it's like to be stuck doing something you hate?"

"Yeah," I said, "I m-might know something about that."

Forbes shook his head and tightened the ropes on my wrists. "This place is a money pit. I can't sell it. I can't close it. It's a family business. I didn't even want it, but I got stuck with it. And when Jimmy decided to pull out . . . well, I couldn't let him do that. We were partners."

"So you killed him."

"Something like that."

"And Warner found out," I said, trying to piece everything together. It was starting to make sense. "That's why he was blackmailing you."

"I wouldn't call it blackmail." Forbes crinkled his nose like he was giving it some thought. "More like, we formed a new partnership. He's a good kid, but he's got one hell of a temper. Has authority issues. Doesn't like to be told what to do. If he'd taken care of you like I asked him to..." He trailed off and shook his head. "I guess I'll just have to take care of this myself. But don't worry, you won't feel a thing."

He pulled out the stun gun and pressed it to my shoulder, and then . . . ZAP!

I opened my eyes and tried to focus. The room was darker. A couple of the lights had either burned out or had been switched off. It was colder than before; I could see my breath fog every time I breathed. I was so cold I was numb, and yet my body ached all over. My mouth was sour and pasty, and tasted like copper. Blood. It took me a while to remember what was going on. And then I heard the music, and it all came back to me.

I looked around for Forbes and saw him standing by the door. He was still in the tuxedo, but he'd lost the tie. His shirt was untucked and splattered with blood. My blood. He was wearing a pair of black gloves. I looked from one hand to the other, and saw a piece of thin wire tied around a wooden handle like a whip.

He looked at me and our eyes locked, and a rush of fresh terror ran through my body.

"Just like a cow," he said, and I thought he sounded a little disappointed. "We stun them, and they're not supposed to wake up. But they do. They always wake up. You'll see them on the line, and they'll be looking at you, and you'll know they're not stunned. Nowhere near it. But you just go on. Can't stop the line just because one of them didn't get enough juice. You'll see them, and they got their hooves cut off, and their tails cut off, and they'll be shaking and their tongues will be sticking out. And you just go on, because you figure they'll die eventually."

So that's how it was going to happen. He was going to torture me until I died, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to stop it. My heart sank. This wasn't the first time I'd thought I was going to die. But it was the first time I'd been sure of it. I closed my eyes and thought about TastyKakes. I would miss TastyKakes. And my parents. I would miss them, too. And what about the Sea Monkey? I'd never wanted kids. Sure, there were times when I got those maternal urges, but for the most part, I'd managed to push those aside. But now I was thinking maybe Morelli had been right. Maybe having a kid wouldn't be so horrible. Too bad I'd never have the chance to find out.

I turned my head to the side and threw up. Forbes dropped a bucket by the edge of the table to catch the run off while I coughed and choked and tried to take in a few deep breaths.

"I've had enough," he said. And so had I. I was tired and confused, and if this was how it was going to play out, then so be it. I just wanted it over with. Forbes walked across the room and dropped the whip on the floor by the door. Then he picked up a sledgehammer and looked in my direction.

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to go to my happy place. I could hear his footsteps on the floor as he walked over. Then he stopped. I heard him heave the sledgehammer up and braced myself for the impact. The door screeched open, followed by a series of loud pops. Gunshots. The sledgehammer landed with a clang on the floor, and something slumped over me on the table. I forced my eyes open and saw that it was Forbes. He slid off the table and landed with a thwack on the floor. My vision was blurry, but I could see Ranger standing beside the table, dressed in his SWAT clothes. He holstered his Glock at his side and stripped out of his windbreaker, and draped it over me. Then he called out to the other guys in the room, and they all shuffled around, working at the ropes.

"Can you move?" Ranger asked me. His tone was steady and even, but the lines around his eyes gave him away. I blinked my eyes a couple times and he nodded to Tank and Cal. Then he hoisted me up and carried me into the front office, and laid me on the row of chairs by the door. Tank and Cal both stripped off their jackets and passed them to Ranger, and he covered me with them. Then he turned and said something to Tank.

My vision was getting dotty again. Sirens were whirring nearby. They were getting closer. Police, and probably an ambulance. Ranger was crouched beside me. He was saying something, but I couldn't make out the words. I tried to concentrate, but it was no use. Everything ached, and I was just so tired. My eyelids fluttered a couple times, and then I was out like a light.

I was feeling warm and comfy, and very relaxed. The room was dark when I opened my eyes, but I could hear the buzz of machines and the shuffle of people in the hallway, and I knew I was in the hospital. And more importantly, that I wasn't dead. I looked down and wiggled my toes under the covers. Still had feet. I tried to do the same with my fingers and noticed a large cast on my left arm. My fingers were red and swollen, sticking out from the plaster. Ranger was sitting upright in a chair by the bed. His arms were folded across his chest, and his head was leaned back against the wall. He was sleeping.

"Hey," I croaked. Ranger didn't move. I reached out and touched his arm, and his eyes shot open. He looked in my direction and a tiny smile played at the corners of his mouth.

"Welcome back," Ranger said. He leaned forward and tucked a curl behind my ear. "Are you thirsty?"

I nodded. Ranger filled a plastic cup with water from the pitcher on the side table, and held the straw to my lips. I drank half of it, and motioned the rest away.

"Thanks," I said to Ranger. "What time is it?"

"Late. Or early, depending on how you look at it. You've been in and out of it for a few hours. How do you feel?"

"I don't know yet."

Ranger nodded. "Do you remember anything?"

I sank back into the pillow and thought for a moment. "Not a lot. I was getting ready for the wedding, and then Forbes came in. He stunned me a few times, so I was out for most of it. I don't remember this," I said, gesturing to the cast on my arm.

"Fractured wrist," Ranger said. "It'll take some time to heal, but it was a pretty clean break. You'll be sore for a few days. There's some bruising, and a couple lacerations needed to be sutured. They want to keep you a few days for observation, but there's no sign of any permanent damage."

"He was going to kill me," I said. "There was no doubt in my mind. And I couldn't do anything about it." I paused for a beat, and then asked, "How did you know?"

Ranger eyed me for a moment. "I didn't," he said. "Tank called my cell when he realized you were missing. Your mother found your dress hanging in one of the dressing rooms. Everyone just assumed you'd climbed out the window."

I grimaced.

"Cal was watching Warner," Ranger continued, "so we knew he wasn't involved. At least, not directly. Sally gave Tank a copy of the guest list, and he cross-referenced it with the information we had on the missing women. Forbes was the only common denominator. He must have carted you out in one of the speaker cases. We searched through four different locations before we came back to the slaughterhouse."

I looked at Ranger, not quite sure what to say. Thank you, came to mind, but it seemed inadequate. Ranger gave a tight smile and slipped his hand under mine, and gave it a slight squeeze.

"What about Warner?" I asked him.

"Warner's in police custody," Ranger said. "They have his confession on record. You have Morelli to thank for that."

"He can be pretty persuasive."

"So I hear."

We both went quiet. There was something I wanted to ask, but I wasn't sure how. I looked around the room for a moment, and then asked in a low voice, "Is there anything else I should know?"

"Nothing comes to mind."

"So I'm still . . . you know."

Ranger's cop face was back on. He nodded once, and I let out a sigh of relief. Wow. I hadn't expected that. I was so used to the fear and uncertainty that relief never crossed my mind. Go figure.

I looked over at Ranger and managed a half-smile. "So I guess we need to have that talk," I said to him.

Ranger sucked in some air and let it out slowly. Then he met my half-smile with one of his own. "Babe."


	20. Chapter 20

Ranger helped me ease into the passenger's seat of one of his black Rangeman SUVs a few days later. He slipped behind the wheel, buckled himself in, and effortlessly pulled into traffic. Dead silence lapsed around us.

I thought about saying something to break up the monotony of the moment, but nothing came out. We had talked all night long. About Warner. About the baby. About what came next. Turns out the talking was just as confusing as the silence.

We idled at a stoplight and Ranger rested a hand on my knee. "How are you doing?"

"I'm okay. Tired. Confused." And about a million other things that I couldn't put a name to.

He looked over at me, his expression unreadable. "What do you need from me?"

I thought long and hard before I answered. What _did_ I need from Ranger?

My relationship with Morelli, while comfortable and familiar, had been fraught with miscommunication and mistrust. There hadn't been enough room for us both. Every time the pressure of trying to fit into the plastic mold of Burg domesticity became too much, it fell apart.

I didn't that to happen with Ranger.

 _Honesty_ , I decided. That was what I needed more than anything. Fortunately, honesty was something he was very good at.

"You're not the most forthcoming person," I told him. "I never know where I stand with you. Where _we_ stand. If it's just sex or if it's…" I shrugged. "I need to know how you feel about all of this."

"You mean, the baby?"

"Not just the baby." I swallowed, needing to catch my breath before I swung head fist into clingy girlfriend mode. "Me, too. Us. As in, you and me us."

A small, tired smile lifted the corner's of Range's mouth. I'd never seen such levity in his expression before, a lightness that had the same analgesic effect on my worries as the hydrocodone had on my broken arm. He moved the hand that had been on my knee and with it clasped one of mine. "I feel good about it," he said. "All of it."

"Good? That's it?"

"You would prefer a different adjective?"

"We're having a baby. You and I. Me and you. Us. We are having a baby. A baby."

Ranger laughed. "Babe."

"Stop laughing! This isn't funny. It's terrifying! I don't know the first thing about having a baby. And I don't know anything about you. I've never met your parents, your sisters. I don't even know where you live."

He lifted my hand to his mouth and kissed it lightly. "All in due time," he said. "We still have a few months to sort things out. Right now my only focus is getting you home. When you're feeling better, we'll tackle some of the bigger things."

Home sounded good. It felt like months had passed since I'd been in my own apartment. Sure, it didn't have near the amenities as Ranger's Rangeman penthouse, but it was familiar and warm. And mine.

By the time we had pulled into the small lot behind my apartment building, the pain medication I had been given before leaving the hospital had begun doing its thing, lulling me into la la land. I vaguely remembered Ranger helping me out of the SUV, half-carrying me to the elevator, and then placing a soft kiss on my forehead as he tucked me in. And then it was lights out.

It was dark when I woke up. Groggily, I turned onto my side and squinted, trying to make sense of the numbers on my cell phone. Thanks to daylight savings time, it wasn't nearly as late as the lack of sunlight had originally led me to believe.

A cold emptiness washed over me. The door to my bedroom was open, but there were no lights. No sounds. I was alone.

Pregnant. Unemployed. Scared. And alone.

It cut through me, deactivating the bravado I'd had cocooned around myself in the days since I'd first been given Warner's file.

Ranger had always been clear about the fact that he wasn't the safe option. It had been the main reason I had hesitated to get involved with him. No doubt Ranger loved me, in whatever sense of the word he chose to acknowledge at any given point in time, but we had a bad habit of making each other want things we couldn't have. I couldn't help but wonder how that would work out now that a baby had been thrown into the mix.

I stood before the tears that were building could crest, and made my way through my darkened apartment to the kitchen, where, if there was a God, the three-layer German chocolate cake my mother had promised me was waiting.

I needed cake like I needed air. It had been a cake kind of week.

I was almost to the refrigerator when I caught my foot on something and had to steady myself against the wall to keep from going splat on the kitchen floor. I could tell by the feel of it that it was an electrical cord.

Dread bloomed in my chest.

 _You have got to be freaking kidding me_.

I went compiled a mental list of sociopaths who might want to blow me up this week. It was a short list, with my mother and Morelli at the top, which dialed the dread back to easily digestible annoyance.

Annoyance that was directed toward Ranger more than anything else. It didn't surprise me that he hadn't stayed. He had a job to get back to, a company to run. That wasn't the problem. His dedication and ambition was one of the things I liked most about him.

But I hated how okay he was with things, how willing he was to wait around for things to work themselves out.

I wasn't okay. I was afraid the only thing that would eventually work itself out would be a baby working itself out of my…

 _Nope. Nope nope nope nope nope nope nope._

 _Stephanie, you are not going there!_

Frustrated, and in need of more cake now than ever before, I flicked on the lights.

And stood frozen to the spot.

The cord on my foot hadn't been a bomb. Not even close.

It was a string of Christmas lights.

They were everywhere. Snowflakes dancing on the walls. LED icicles dripping from the ceiling. Sparkling red and white candy canes. I counted one, two, three Christmas trees, lit up and loaded with shiny ornaments.

And tinsel! Oh my god, the tinsel!

It was an explosion of Christmas, complete with a six-foot-tall cardboard cut-out ofJack Skellington dressed as Sandy Claws.

The tears that had threatened to spill over flowed freely as I clasped my hands shakily against my mouth.

And then I saw it-the tip of a black steel-toed boot sticking out from one side of my couch. Ranger was sleeping.

I pounced on him before I could think better of it, landing with such force it knocked the air out of both of us. Ranger jerked awake, and I kissed him before he could say a word.

It didn't take long for him to come to his senses and reciprocate.

"Thank you," I said, barely taking my lips off his. "Thank you for…You didn't have to…"

Ranger brushed my hair away from my face, wiping the tears away with his thumb. "I wanted to do something special for you. To show you that I meant what I said. I'm in. I'm all in. For now and forever."

I kissed him again, more passionately this time, and when we'd used up all of our oxygen, he helped me ease into a sitting position. He crossed the room, bent beneath the tree, and retrieved a small box wrapped in red foil.

He laughed when he saw my face. "It's not a ring," he said, handing me the box.

My face tinged brighter than the foil. I toyed with the edges of the ribbon while I collected my thoughts, then dug in. Inside was a small, silver pendant curved into a teardrop shape. There was room enough for three stones. Two had already been set with peridot and opal. The third was empty.

Ranger helped me fasten the necklace while I fingered the pendant with my good hand.

"Yours and mine. And ours," he said.

"Thank you. It's beautiful." The most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

I swallowed, unsure of where to begin. Then I remembered-honesty. I had asked Ranger to be honest with me. It only made sense that I offered him the same.

"I don't want to get married just because I'm pregnant," I said quietly. "But I do want to get married. Someday."

Ranger studied me for a long while, not saying anything. Then he took my hand in his and held it, and I didn't need him to say anything. Everything I needed to hear was in the warmth of his touch.

"I love you," he said. "I have for a long time. I would be lying if I said I knew what that meant, what to do about it. But I would like to find out. Together."

A heady lightness, almost like relief, spread through me. "You've always seemed so opposed to the idea of marriage. To commitment in general, really."

"It's hard to commit yourself to someone who's committed to someone else," Ranger said. "If I admitted, even for a moment, that I loved you, that I couldn't stand the idea of life without you, and you chose someone else?" He shook his head. "I've been in many life-or-death situations before. None of them have ever been as terrifying as that."

"I was never choosing Morelli over you," I said. "Not actively, anyway. I just thought…if I could learn to be happy with the life I thought I should want, maybe I could convince myself I didn't want to be with you. Because I did want to be with you. I do. I love you. So much that I feel weak just saying it."

Ranger pulled me to him and held me close, enveloping me in his warmth. "You are anything but weak," he said. "You are the strongest person I know."

"I'm not strong. But I feel like I am when I'm with you. When I'm with you, I feel like I can take on the world."

"You are my world," Ranger said. "And one day, when we're both ready, there will be a ring."

"And when there is," I said, pulling back to look at him. The best man I had ever known. The man I loved. "My answer will be yes."

Ranger smiled. "Fuckin' A." 

Sorry if that was rushed. I wrote it on my lunch hour. Hope that helped clear things up! Merry Christmas, kat!


End file.
